New Flatmate: Part I
by Marauder Roleplays
Summary: Sherlock and John are faced with a case that will reveal a feral evil in London; the only question is what does their new flatmate Phineas Black have to do with it? /crack-crossover roleplay turned story; rated M for graphic gore, sex, violence/
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello, dear readers. Welcome to _New Flatmate: Part I._ This was written by Phie and myself. Our tumblrs are, respectively, _phiesalittlelighthouse_ and _iggymarauder. _Our friend Kcold (tumblr: _kcoldem_) also played a couple characters. We encourage you to drop us a line and tell us what you think.

Note: this is a repost from on Iggy Marauder's account, authorized and executed by Iggy herself. There should be no problems or complaints.

**Disclaimer:** We don't own any un-original places, people, or ideas.

**Warnings: **graphic sex scenes, gore, language, etc. Also angst, crack, etc.

**Iggy Played: **Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Gregory Lestrade, Albus Potter, James Potter Sr., Sirius Black, Jim Moriarty, occasional NPCs  
><strong>Phie Played: <strong>Phineas Black, Bittie Hammond, Garrett Weston, Remus Lupin, occasional NPCs  
><strong>Kcold Played: <strong>Derek Argent, Clarissa Argent, occasional NPCs

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 01<strong>

Phineas Black swung his long legs from the interior of the cab. He tipped the driver, pulled his suitcase from the seat beside him, and stood looking up at the building before him.

_221B. Baker Street. This is it..._

He turned the piece of crumpled newsprint over and over in his left hand before finally crumpling it into a ball in his fist and knocking on the door.

A small, older woman in an eggplant dress answered the door with a cheerful, but wary smile. She craned her neck up quite a bit to see him.

"Can I help you?"

He stuck out a long hand and attempted a smile.

"Uh. Hi. I'm Phineas. I... answered an advert?"

"Oh! Of course!" She gave him a brighter smile, throwing a glance at the staircase behind her. "Right this way, dear."

He followed her up the musty staircase and she pointed towards a door.

"They're in there. I'm sure you can just... walk in." She gave him another brief smile before casting a quick look at the door he was stood in front of, as if to make sure it didn't jump off its hinges and bite her.

"Thanks-" Phin started to say, but she had already tottered quickly back down the stairs.

He was alone.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the doorknob, crumpled address still clutched in his hand, and let himself in, setting his suitcase gently on the floor.

"Hello?"

Blue eyes flicked up at the newcomer, taking him in, before darting back down to the mobile phone in hand.

"Your bed room is upstairs. How long is your girlfriend away?"

_It's the brother, of course. -SH_

The text was sent and the tall, thin man unfolded himself from the armchair, standing up. He had dark curls, pale skin, and prominent, high cheekbones.

The sound of an aborted yelp came from the kitchen, followed by a sigh and a raised voice asking, "Sherlock, would you please stop putting human body parts in the microwave?"

A short, blonde man in a comfortable sweater walked into the sitting room, wiping his hands with a dish towel. His brown eyes settled on the newcomer and his face lifted into a smile.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Black!" He held his hand out, shaking Phin's. "John Watson. And this is Sherlock Holmes. I, er, hope you're not homophobic."

"How-" Phin began, but his question was cut short by the shorter man's entrance.

He shook his hand and gave him a small smile, wondering vaguely what "human body parts" implied.

"Erm... yeah. Hi. I'm Phineas Black... Phin... is fine. And... no. My best mate's gay." But his eyes flicked over to the other man, just behind the blonde.

"What... what did you say about my girlfriend?"

"Your girlfriend is gone for some time. Am I right?"

John sighed, giving Phin an exasperated smile. "Sherlock is just like that. Don't take offense to it."

He turned and gave his tall lover a look. "Now, Lock, please keep the human body parts out of the microwave."

"John, it's for an experiment."

John rolled his eyes and moved back into the kitchen. "Sherlock, the microwave is for food, not for seeing how fast eyeballs, fingers, hands, toes, or, Christ, cocks, will explode."

"But John..." There was the slightest hint of a childish whinging in the taller man's voice as he trailed after the veteran into the kitchen.

Phin watched this exchange with increasing frustration. He interrupted it.

"No, sorry- hang on. How did you know about my girlfriend?" He scowled at Sherlock. What had they been told?

Sherlock paused, turning to look at the younger man. His soft, deep voice intoned, "Your watch. It shows recent and excessive touching, which means that it has emotional value to you. A small engraving on the side says, 'with love, Bittie.' I don't know of any man that would call himself or let himself be called 'Bittie' so it must be a girlfriend. Put that, the fact that you're moving into a flat with two other men, and that you don't look angry or depressed and you have the conclusion of a loved girlfriend being a long distance away for a long period of time."

He gave a small, emotionless smile to Phin and continued into the kitchen to remove the hand from the microwave.

John popped his head back around the doorway. "Would you like anything to eat?"

Phin glanced at his watch, half amazed, half wary. He turned to the blonde man, eyebrows raised.

"I... sure... I s'pose- Is that... _normal?"_

John chuckled. "He's like that always. Genius, really."

"And that's why you love me," said the kitchen.

John rolled his eyes. "Anyways, anything to eat?"

Phin could tell that this was going to be an interesting experience. And this was coming from the man who had snorted Floo powder, killed vampires, _fucked_vampires, cast spells, and run around on four legs and howled at the moon.

But they didn't need to know any of that.

"Yeah. That sounds good." Phin pulled his phone out of his pocket and gave it another glance.

_Nothing..._

John opened his mouth when -

_"YES!"_

Sherlock came barreling out of the kitchen, mobile clutched in his right hand. "We've got a serial killer, John!" He jumped in air, looking much like an overgrown child. "Oh, _yes!_Grab your coat!"

John's face lit up and he snatched up his leather jacket, swinging it around his shoulders just as Sherlock wrapped his scarf around his neck.

John looked at Phin and then darted his eyes between Sherlock and the young man. "Er...would you like to...tag along?"

Sherlock glanced at John before staring at Phin, waiting for an answer.

Phin stared at the two men in disbelief.

"I-... I'm sorry. Did you say _serial killer?"_

But there was little he could do; they were practically out the door. He pulled his rumpled, charcoal grey coat on and followed them, grumbling a bit.

This was NOT his idea of moving into a new flat...

"Uh, yes, serial killer. Sherlock's favorite. He's a consulting detective, I'm a doctor and his assistant. When the police need help, they call Sherlock."

John gave Phin a once over. "Just so we can get you in with little trouble, do you have any talents that might help?"

Without thinking, the doctor's hand slipped into the detective's as they walked, following Sherlock's lead.

_Heightened senses. High endurance. Inhuman speed. Excellent strength. Magic. Fantastic in bed...or so I've heard._

Phin shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "Erm... I...can juggle. Sort of."

He had a feeling that wouldn't be very helpful.

Sherlock gave Phin a disbelieving look but decided not to say anything.

Ten minutes later they arrived at a crime scene in a park.

A woman's voice called out, "Freak's here!" and John tensed up, throwing the woman a scathing look. Sherlock just seemed to get colder and more distant.

A man with greying hair approached the trio, glancing at Phin before walking with them towards the body.

"Looks like an animal -"

"But?"

"_But_there are some things that don't add up. We're thinking it might be someone with an attack dog, but the beast is too big to go unnoticed."

They came to the body, which was sprawled out with the back split open as if gnawed on.

Phin's stomach fell.

_Oh, shite..._

It was easy to recognize the wounds for what they were. There was only one kind of creature he knew that had the ability to kill someone like that. And the smell hung around the corpse so thickly, he was surprised everyone wasn't wrinkling their noses and fighting off nausea.

Werewolves.

But he was puzzled. The moon was half. There shouldn't be anyone out right now. For that matter, how many others of his kind were wandering the streets of London right now?

He cast a glance over his shoulder at the small huddle of hu-... people behind him and inhaled deeply near the corpse. He laid a hand gently near the wound, examining it with a trained eye. It was easy.

"Three hours. Probably. Long claws... he was big. It was definitely a he..."

His eyes scanned the ground before him. He picked up the droplets that the others probably couldn't see. He followed the scent in front of him until his eyes came to rest on an alley just across the street from them. He glanced up discreetly at the group behind him, wondering if anyone had heard him, and half hoping they hadn't.

This wasn't something they should be meddling in...

Sherlock had stopped listening to Lestrade once Phin had begun to examine the body. He barely picked up what the young man had said.

Moving to stand beside him, Sherlock murmured, "You must have outstanding olfactory senses. Would you be able to help us track him down?"

Phin stood up and shrugged. He lit a cigarette quietly and jammed it into his mouth.

"Iunno, mate. This doesn't seem like my area of expertise."

He blew a smoke ring thoughtfully.

"Listen, _Phineas_, if you have anything, anything at all, that could help solve this faster, I need it. These murders have been going on for two weeks now and John is terribly unsettled. I don't like seeing him unsettled."

Sherlock gave Phin a piercing glare. "So. What do you have?"

Phin stared evenly into Sherlock's pale eyes. The man was almost as tall as he was. That didn't happen very often. It was unsettling the way he looked at him, as if he were a machine and Sherlock couldn't get him to work right. As if he could make the gears turn again with a glare. Phin groaned and shifted his gaze. He crushed his fag against the wall behind him and turned around to face the little group.

"Keep up," he said, his voice low. He bent into a graceful crouch, inhaling the stench of wolf and corpse once more before springing up to follow the scent into the alley.

He didn't like this. Not at all. Following human-killing, unfamiliar, powerful wolves straight into their own territory was probably what was universally known as _a bad idea._

He stopped at the end of the alley to wait for them before inhaling again.

"This way..."

John made a quick apology to Lestrade as he and Sherlock took off after their new flatmate. The run was rhythmic and cleared the doctor's head and spurred the detective's mind to work faster.

They continued after Phin until the man came to a sudden stop.

Something felt...

Off.

The trio had been running through the streets of London for a good fifteen minutes or so. The trail had been strong and fairly recent, as far as Phin could tell. But at the end of a rubbish-strewn alley behind a shabby Indian restaurant, it stopped.

Phin checked one corner. He checked the other. He searched around the walls.

He turned to look at John and Sherlock.

"That's it. It's stopped."

He lit another fag, feeling frustrated.

"It just..._stopped_." John looked around, then turned on Phin. "I'm sorry, what exactly were we doing?"

Sherlock, on the other hand, was taking everything in, muttering under his breath quietly.

Phin shook his head and fiddled with his watch.

"I have no fucking idea. I thought I had him... but he's just gone. There's no more trail."

Bittie sprang to his mind again, uninvited. He felt tired suddenly.

"Listen. I'm going to go back to the flat. I'm tired and I don't think I can help you anymore. I'm expecting a phone call..."

He thought of his phone, sitting alone on the counter. Maybe it had come already...

Sherlock paced back and forth, agitated. "No, no, no, no, no, there's something here, there has to be _something_..."

Something caught his eye.

"There, trail of blood. Leads _up_the wall."

He looked up, seeing nothing but windows to flats, but none were open or had been disturbed for a while...and the blood trail went over the edge to the roof.

"Come on, he cut across by roof."

Sherlock grabbed a hold of the metal ladder on the side of the building, beginning his ascent.

_Oh. Of course,_thought Phin.

The young wizard hopped lithely onto the nearest dumpster, swung himself onto a fire escape, and pulled himself onto the roof.

He leaned over the edge to watch them climb up.

Once on the roof, Sherlock turned to Phin. "Well?"

John frowned and looked between the two. "No, wait, what the bloody hell is going on? What are we following?"

"No time for that, John. It can wait until we get home."

Phin closed his eyes and took a small, sharp breath and released it. He could just barely taste it.

"Blood," he said to Sherlock, his eyes snapping open and darting around the roof. He dashed over to the ledge, a few barely noticeable dabs of blood dotting the edge before they disappeared.

"It probably goes over onto the next rooftop," Phin said. The jump was far, but doable. He backed up, took a running head start, and leaped the space between the buildings.

Landing on the other side with a skid, he turned to them and gave them a cheeky grin.

"Mind the gap."

Sherlock followed without hesitation, but John rolled his eyes.

"Always the roof jumping."

He backed up and ran, his heart pounding as his feet scraped the side of the other building, stomach colliding painfully with the edge. He gripped the roof and tugged himself up, running after the taller men.

Phin looked around. As far as he could see, there wasn't much up here.

He turned back to the others. "You take that ladder down and check the alleys. Maybe there's something there. I'll stay up here and see if it continues."

Without waiting for a response, he took off and leaped the next gap, landing with a crunch of gravel on the other side.

The doctor and the detective quickly descended from the building, splitting up to search for any clues. John headed east while Sherlock went northwest.

Half an hour later John was completely lost in the labyrinth of alleyways and streets. Perhaps it'd be best to invest in a GPS system on his phone one of these days.

That was his last thought before pain exploded in his mind as something smacked him in the head and he passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 02**

Down a dark alley, something large sniffed the figure on the ground. The way it grinned was sinister, yellowed teeth gleaming in the dim, flickering lamp light. With a low chuckle, it left a small present and melted back into the shadows.

Sherlock panted as he jogged over to Phin, who was climbing down a ladder. "Anything?"

Phin shook his head, frowning. "No. Nothing. The blood trail really does just disappear."

"I found a small patch of hair." The detective held up the hairs in question, examining them briefly before pulling out a small clear baggie and depositing them into it.

Phin had a bad feeling about letting Sherlock have the hairs, but ignored it in favour of asking the other man, "Where's the other bloke? John, right?"

"I haven't seen him since we split up. He went east from here." Sherlock ignored the fear curling in his gut and began tracing John's footsteps.

It took all of ten minutes to find a body lying on the ground, half-hidden behind a skip. It took only a second for Sherlock's heart to start pounding.

"John!"

He rushed over, examining his lover and gagging at the pungent, gross smell permeating the area.

John groaned as the detective gently shook him, hissing at the pain emanating from the back of his head. "Ow, ow, ow! Oh god, ow. Christ." He blearily looked around. "Sh-sherlock?"

"Yes, John, I'm right here. Look at me." He pulled out a small torch, turning it on and shining it into John's eyes. His pupils weren't at different dilations but that only assuaged Sherlock's fears some. He turned the blond's head gently, examining the still sluggishly bleeding head wound. Some of the blood had already dried, leaving a matted mess around the wound.

Phin stared, heart pounding. The smell was all around him and he felt small and hunted. This was a powerful male wolf that had done this.

It made his stomach churn.

_What have I gotten into?_

John protested weakly when Sherlock picked him up before he noticed what he was gripping in his left hand. He yelped, wanting to drop them but unwilling to contaminate them with whatever might be on the ground.

_Damn you, Sherlock._

"Sherlock."

The detective looked at John's proffered hand, fascinated by the clean cut. Within his lover's grasp were three different fingers, very obviously from different people. He said, "Hold them, John. I'll take them once we get you in a cab and on the way home."

Phin was staring at his phone.

Same as he had been for the past hour.

Sherlock glanced over at him from the kitchen, where he was examining the fingers. His eyes slid over to John, who was asleep on the sofa, hair and wound cleaned, clothes changed, and bandaged up.

Turning his gaze back to his fingers, he said, "Staring at it won't make her call."

Phin blinked and finally looked up from the mobile. "Wot?"

"Staring at it won't make her call," he repeated, slower and with more emphasis. He disliked having to repeat himself.

Phin sighed, and then scowled at himself for doing so. "Yeah, well…three weeks without contact makes me…" The "concerned" was left unspoken.

Sherlock blinked. "Perhaps she's fighting crime."

He looked over at Phin and then looked away, ignoring the thought that Phin was incredibly attractive.

Phin, however, stared at the pale man.

How... how could he have known about... what did he... was...

Oh. Oooh. He was being facetious.

Was he...?

_What the hell happens in that man's brain..._

A small smirk appeared on Sherlock's lips. "I fight crime in my own special way. Why can't your girlfriend?"

Phin thought about that. Of course she would go off and do something as stupid and needless as going back there and settling some old score.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

She's dead. Or she's gotten hurt. Her head's lying in a gutter somewhere. She's-

_Ugh, just calm down. Fucking hell. You're going to end up just like your granddad..._

A mumble of something like, "Oh, fuck _all_ this shit..." came from John, drawing Sherlock's attention. He set the fingers down and removed his gloves before making his way over.

Phin crushed his fag in a small glass... thing... and made his way over.

John looked up blearily at Sherlock and the...Phin, that was his name.

"You're hot," he blurted. Then he groaned in embarrassment, ears turning red as he turned and buried his face in the pillow.

Sherlock's lips twitched, blue eyes darting over to see Phin's reaction.

"Thanks," Phin said, with a tiny smile more to indicate amusement than agreement. It was certainly not the first time disoriented men had spewed confessions to him in odd situations.

Whatever.

He did find the way the smaller man was so quick to blush and turn away sort of...

What? Endearing? Something like that.

He did remind him of Garrett.

Oh. Right. Garrett.

"Uhm, one moment..."

Phin walked back to his mobile and began typing out a message.

Sherlock pecked John on the jaw, chuckling when John further burrowed into the sofa, trying to hide.

"John, come out. Sarah told me to change your bandages when you woke, so you could tell me what to do."

John whinged but sat up. He glanced at Phin and his cheeks and nose flushed with a light rose colour. He looked away quickly.

_doing fine. flat mates barmy & camp. flat big, nice, no complaints save for murders and possible ww's. call tomorrow, explain later. don't worry. & don't let al near floo. really. -phin_

He hit send and dropped the phone back onto the sofa. He was exhausted. What the hell was the time? He hadn't even put his luggage in his room...

Soon John's head was cleaned and bandaged again, tufts of dark blonde hair sticking up.

John yawned. "What happened?"

Sherlock told him a brief summary of what had happened, showing his lover the fingers that now sat in the fridge and the dog hairs in the vial, both of which he would take to St. Bartholomew's Hospital the next morning for analysis.

"You stay here and help Phin move in."

John nodded, closing his eyes and slumping on to the sofa.

Phin woke up suddenly from a strange dream the next morning. He ran his fingers through his thoroughly bedraggled hair and stumbled from the bed. The single bed. Without the familiar warm spot just to his right.

He checked his mobile again.

Nothing.

Fuck.

Stretching and yawning, Phin made his way to the small kitchen. Nobody seemed to be home. He opened the refrigerator. Maybe he'd make some eggs or some-

BLOODY FUCKING HELL THAT WAS A HEAD.

Phin slammed the door shut and stood with his back pressed against it, panting.

WOT. THE. FUCK. WAS. THAT.

He whirled around and tore open the door again.

Yes. It was indeed a head. A human. Head. _Right_ where his eggs should have been.

He closed the door, suddenly not feeling hungry. Instead, he pulled up a chair at the tiny, cluttered kitchen table and grabbed the paper lying there.

**MAN DEAD IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE AFTER VICIOUS DOG ATTACK...**

Oh. Right. That.

Someone should probably do something about that.

John, in a worn grey tee, pajamas, and a robe, shuffled into the kitchen. One look at Phin and John sighed. "Forgot to warn you about that. Ehm, besides putting body parts in the microwave, he also tends to keep body parts in the fridge. Sorry."

He set about making some tea and toast, pulling the jam out of the fridge. "Toast? Tea?"

"Oh. Yeah. That sounds lovely."

Phin watched John go about preparing the meal and skimmed over the article, not really taking in the details.

"So... how are you feeling?"

John smiled. "As well as can be with a head injury. I'll tell you what, though: I'm incredibly glad I invested in some feather pillows. It would have sucked bollocks to sleep on a firm pillow with this." He pointed at his still bandaged head.

Bringing two cups of tea to the table and then retrieving the jam, toast, cream, and sugar, he sat at the table. He quickly fixed his tea as he liked and sipped it, licking his lips and sighing, content.

Phin smiled and accepted the tea. He sipped in silence with John for a while, only half-reading the newspaper.

"So. Sherlock's off... examining things."

"Yes, he went off to Bart's to analyze the dog hairs and the fingers."

John grimaced, thinking back on the fact that he had held severed fingers with his bare hands.

"Anyways, when you're finished we can start...well, wait, did you bring anything other than your suitcase?"

Phin snorted a bit.

"Yeah. I travel light. You said the place was furnished in your advert. That's all I needed."

He sipped his tea.

"Oh..." John shrugged. "Alright. I assume you don't need my help sorting your clothes out, so what would you like to do. We have a currently Sherlock-free flat, so we can watch whatever crap telly we'd like, or whatever. Any ideas?"

"Or, you know, we could get roaring drunk and fuck each other on every piece of furniture in the flat," Phin intoned in a bored voice.

He sipped his tea again and flipped through the papers. "Oooh, Swindon are playing the Hammers. That's going to be interesting."

_"Or, you know, we could get roaring drunk and fuck each other on every piece of furniture in the flat."_

John choked on his tea, coughing and spluttering.

Laughing around his coughs, the doctor said, "Well, hem, I've got plenty of alcohol stashed away. I try to hide it from Sherlock, but I'm sure he knows where it is and simply doesn't dip into it because he knows I'll move it again."

He ignored the little hope in the back of his mind that wanted Phin's words to come true.

Phin wiped the escaped tea from the article he had been skimming and grinned up at John.

"Useful information indeed... I'll keep that in mind. Hmm. Should probably go put on trousers, shouldn't I?"

And with that, Phin left the kitchen.

John almost choked again, staring wide eyed at Phin's arse.

Many, many crude things floated to the surface of his thoughts, most of them revolving around Phin, himself, sex, and grabbing that arse.

Then Sherlock came to mind, and from there a niggling idea tickled the back of his head...

No, he'd have to wait to talk to Sherlock -

John rolled his eyes at himself. _I'm so stupid sometimes._ He snatched his phone from the coffee table where he'd left it the night before, sending a text to Sherlock.

Almost immediately afterwards, his phone pinged.

_Yes._

John smiled and sipped his tea.

Phin pulled some random clothes from his suitcase and pulled them on, storing the rest in the dresser. They barely filled up one drawer, but he didn't really care. He could use the other two drawers for... other things. Whatever that might be.

Aaah, expansion charms. Where would he be without them? Phin pulled his grandfather's old satchel from his suitcase, made sure his wand was tucked safely in the hidden slip on the outside, and flung it around his shoulders.

There. He was ready. Rumpled, unshowered, bleary-eyed, and generally disheveled, but ready.

He was already almost out the door, his arms struggling to find their way through his coatsleeves, when he stopped and yelled to John.

"Hey. Do you think Sherlock would mind if I borrowed one of his scarves? It's cold." Phin had already started to wrap it around his neck.

John sighed, texting Sherlock about the scarf. Then he stood up and walked over to Phin. "Where're you off to?"

"I dunno. To look around, see what I can find. Maybe the owner of those fingers, eh?" Phin gave John a sly grin. "I shouldn't be gone long. Unless I get knifed or something. In which case, I apologize profusely for the increase in rent. Cheers!"

Phin started to head out the door.

John nodded, going back to his and Sherlock's room.

He sighed. Now he was stuck in here alone with a head injury and nothing to do.

He checked his phone.

_JW: Phin borrowed a scarf.  
>SH: If he gets knifed and gets blood on it, he will get me a new one.<em>

John rolled his eyes and flopped onto the bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 03**

Phin groaned and slammed the door to 221B shut behind him. Five bloody hours or traipsing around London trying to find some clue or scent or trail had failed miserably. Jumping across the same slick rooftops, puddling around Piccadilly Circus in the pouring, autumn rain, and walking up and down grey streets had made him exhausted. He trudged up the stairs, gave a grumbling "n'fanks" to Mrs. Hudson's offer of tea or coffee, and slipped into the warm flat with a sigh.

"Uuuugh..."

He kicked off his wet shoes.

John startled awake with a small snort at the close of the door, having fallen asleep in front of the computer while blogging.

Rubbing his eyes, he yawned, looking blearily at Phin's soaked form.

"I'll start the shower..." he mumbled, on autopilot. Sherlock often came home soaked after wandering London.

Phin hung the scarf and his jacket across a radiator stood in the corner and watched John head for the bathroom.

_Huh. Nice place they've got here. Don't even have to start your own showers..._

He poked his head into the bathroom and chuckled, raising an eyebrow at John.

"Used to this, are we?" He pulled off his shirt and splashed warm water from the sink onto his chilled face.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, Sherlock tends to ignore the fact that it's raining. And if I don't remind him, he forgets to warm up and get out of the wet clothes and then he gets a cold."

John stood up and turned around, swallowing when he saw Phin topless.

Oh, he did have a thing for tall, dark, and handsome, didn't he?

Phin nodded. And watched John look at him for a while as he stood in front of the shower door.

"Erm... you know, I don't have a _problem_ with you standing in here, but I hear it's a waste of water if we all just stand round and look at each other funny." He unclasped his watch and set it on the sink.

"Oh, er, right."

John quickly stepped past Phin and out of the bathroom, only to collide with a raindrop spattered coat front.

Hands gripped him as he bounced back, guiding him towards regaining balance.

John smiled up at his lover, receiving a small smile in return.

Phin closed the door behind him and quickly pulled off the rest of his clothing, standing under the steaming water.

_WAAAARRRM..._

He showered quickly and stepped out, wrapping himself in a towel and gathering his small pile of wet clothes.

He stepped out into the hall and headed for his room, where hopefully, eighteen missed calls and forty "I'M SORRY!"-laden messages would await him.

But he knew they wouldn't.

John groaned, the sound muffled by the mouth covering his own. His fingers were tangled in Sherlock's dark curls, his shorter body covered by the detective's.

He didn't even hear the bathroom door open, having completely forgotten that he and Sherlock had decided to snog heavily there on the hallway floor.

Phin stared at the wriggling, snogging mess on the floor before him. Somebody ought to clean this up.

Somebody named Phineas Black.

"Ahem," he said vaguely.

He wondered if this is how everyone else felt around him and Bittie...

The two broke away, John flushing to the tips of his ears, and Sherlock looking completely unashamed.

Instead, he was staring at Phin's almost naked form, eyes roving over his torso.

Phin snorted and stepped around them.

"No, no, go on. Don't stop on my account. I can go find something else to do."

He did his best to keep his laughter bottled up until he entered his room.

The detective and the doctor shared a look, then Sherlock stood and helped John up. They moved into the kitchen, where sat files and documents that pertained to the serial dog attacks.

"New plan, John."

"You know I'm shite at plans."

"Must I do all the work?"

"Says the man too lazy to get the bloody groceries."

_? MURDERS & WW'S? WTBH, MATE! CALL ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW! - GARRETT_

Phin frowned at the screen. _Fuck you for not being Bittie, _he thought._ And fuck her for not being you..._

He decided he was going to ignore it. He pulled on dry clothes and toweled off his hair as best he could. The rain hadn't let up. If there HAD been any trails, they were gone now.

He stretched out on the sofa in the sitting room, where Sherlock and John were talking. He shut his eyes. Maybe he'd take a nap...

"...it's fascinating, actually. The DNA tells us that the hair is from a male human, but the composition of the hair itself is that of an unknown species of wolf."

John stared at the thick, long, coarse hair he held in his hand, twirling it between his fingers.

Then his eyes drifted to the severed fingers on the table.

"Yes, the fingers were harder. All three from different victims. I've already matched who they came from; Amelia Thompson, Harold Jameson, and Emily Milford. They were kept frozen until left in your care as a warning."

Phin cracked an eye and listened.

Well. Fuck. They were awfully close to the truth, weren't they?

He closed his eyes and decided he would have to be more careful from now on...

Hopefully he'd be able to figure this out before them and work something out. The other wolves were probably territorial, vicious, and clever.

This was going to be fun, wasn't it?

John continued pondering about the evidence before putting it on the back burner and getting up to fix some food.

Sherlock also rose, only he moved swiftly and silently over to Phin, leaning over him and examining his features.

Phin cracked an eye to give Sherlock an annoyed look and groaned.

"Wot."

"You are particularly fascinating for such a handsome creature."

John covered his giggle-snort with a cough from the kitchen.

Phin snorted loudly and began to laugh. He closed his eyes again. Bloody hell, you really never expect these things that come out of people's mouths, do you?

"Haha. Heh. Really now?"

He closed his eyes again.

"Hm, yes, indeed." Sherlock eyed Phin then swooped down to kiss him.

John continued making dinner, glancing over through the door in interest.

Phin's eyes flew open and he sputtered a bit.

Alright, fair enough. This man was crazy AND unpredictable.

And a fair kisser.

Most definitely a fair kisser.

Phin realized it had been a good few minutes...

Sherlock pulled away, a tiny smirk curling his lips. John stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching intently.

"Was that as amazing as it looked?"

Blue eyes flicked to the side to meet brown, and then back down at hazel. "It was indeed."

The thin man straightened. "Dinner's ready."

"Right you are."

A hand from the detective was held out to Phin, offering to help him up.

_Wot... just happened._

Phin took the detective's hand and stared after him rather blankly as he turned to head into the kitchen.

He really wasn't sure what to say. He had rather gotten into that.

Oh well. Two could play at that game. If this was what they normally did in this flat, then Phin was beyond prepared. Perhaps even over-qualified.

He hid his slightly dazed state with a sly grin and sat down matter-of-factly at the dinner table. He lit a fag and watched them both lazily.

The doctor and the detective ate dinner in comfortable silence, seeming to converse with each other with simple looks and shifts in body language. Every now and then they would glance at Phin.

Phin flipped his phone open under the table.

Oh, fucking hell...

_17 NEW MESSAGES_

Phin groaned and got up.

"Excuse me," he mumbled grumpily, heading to the hall. He dialed Garrett's number quickly and leaned against the wall.

Garrett picked up halfway through the first ring.

"WHERE THE FUCKING HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? ARE YOU DEAD OR SOMETHING? AM I TALKING TO YOUR KIDNAPPER? HELLO KIDNAPPER. LET ME TELL YOU, AFTER ALL THAT SHITE YOU'D BETTER GIVE ME A RANSOM DISCOUNT. AFTER ALL THE TROUBLE THAT ARSEHOLE HAS PUT ME THROUGH, I'M ONLY WILLING TO BUNG OUT ABOUT FIVE FUCKING QUID FOR HIS SORRY, SKINNY ARSE. HE'S MORE FUCKING TROUBLE THAN HE'S WORTH. IN FACT, I'D LIKE VERY MUCH TO FUCKING-"

"Garrett, shut up. I was just tired."

"THAT'S NO BLOODY EXCUSE YOU TOSSER. YOU KNOW THAT IT'S ESSENTIAL I HAVE A FUCKING LATITUDE, LONGITUDE, SONAR MAP, AND GPS SIGNAL ON YOUR WHEREABOUTS. YOU'D BETTER BE REALLY FUCKING TIRED BECAUSE IF NOT I'M-"

"CHRIST, WILL YOU _SHUT UP FOR ONE MINUTE?"_

The other end was silent.

"Look, there's been a lot of shite going on and I didn't really feel like talking. My flatmates are these fucking camp detectives or something and-"

"Are they hot?"

"... Wot?"

"Are. They. Good. Looking. Come on, Phineas. Wrack the old Ravenclaw grey matter. ARE THEY HOT. THIS IS IMPORTANT."

"Christ's fucking bollocks, I don't know, sure, yes, something. Yeah. They are a bit. I just snogged one."

"WAIT, WAIT. BACK UP. REALLY?"

"Yeah, I did, but I was saying-"

"OH BLIMEY, I FORGIVE YOU. What does he look like?"

Phin sighed. "Tallish, dark hair, pretty-eyed. He's a bit-"

"...You... you snogged yourself?"

"Do you GET OFF on interrupting me?"

"Sorry."

"A bit mad. And his boyfriendorsomething's this little weedy fellow who..."

Phin trailed off.

"What?" Garrett asked, expectant.

"Reminds... me... of you, a bit, I guess."

"... And they're fucking."

"Yyyeeah."

"Okay, so this is that alternate reality where you accept my date offer in second year and we live happily ever after in a little flat on Baker Street, getting mixed up in murders and spilling tea on the sofa."

"Wot ew no."

"Exactly! Although, I must admit, the possibilities intrigue me."

"GOD FUCK MATE STOP IT."

"Oh, I'd only do you if we were drunk or on Floo or something. Otherwise, that's just awkward. Now go on. Enlighten me as to these werewolves."

"Uh, later. They may hear or something, I'm just outside. They don't know about all that."

"Right. So, has Bittie called yet?"

"Riiight. Okay. Sorry. When can I visit? I must inspect these men up close."

"Blimey, Garrett. I-"

"Wonderful! I'll see you onnnn... Thursday? Thursday it is! Ignore all those text death threats. I was not of sound mind. I'm glad you're settling in! Have fun snogging them! But not too much or I'll get jealous."

"I can't believe you're calling ME a tosser here."

"I love you, Phineas! Oh- that thing about you only being worth five quid? It was a ruse- you know, to plant doubt in the minds of your kidnappers as to your resale value. Anyway. Have a lovely evening!"

"Yeah, yeah, cheers..."

"Answer your goddamned phone."

"Hang up now, you arse."

"You don't mean that. Bye!"

"Bye."

Phin hung up and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. He wasn't feeling very cheerful anymore, suddenly.

The shouting drew the attention of the older men, causing the two to wait until they were sure Phin was done - no use in purposely eavesdropping - before checking in on him.

"Are you alright?" John asked.

Phin frowned and rubbed his temples, hoping to rid himself of a rising headache. He'd been getting a lot of those recently.

"No, No, I'm fine. Just…"

The detective opened his mouth to say something, staring intently at Phin, when a strange roaring noise, as if a fire had just flared, came from the living room.

Phin stiffened and shot up, bolting to the living room at inhuman speed at the sound of a familiar roar in the fireplace.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 04**

Albus Potter stared at Garrett, crouching on the floor with his huge, green eyes staring at him from his hidden spot behind the arm of the sofa as he argued with Phin. His eyes darted between the phone and Garrett's mouth.

He missed Phin. Phin was fun to bugger.

Albus frowned. Bugger? No, _bother_! That's the word. Right.

_But shh! SHHH! BLOODY HE- Oh I am me. Right, hush me, and listen to pretty boy. Garrett. Right._

Once Garrett was done and had set the phone down and left, the tiny twelve year old squeaked in excitement and grabbed the phone. He flopped onto the sofa and rolled around like a kitten, flailing a bit as he suddenly thought he might be in the ocean. No, wait...sofa. Right.

He skimmed through the phone, quickly finding the GPS and locating Phin's phone and _YES!_

He squealed and flailed, looking like he was having a seizure. The action made him fall off the sofa, from which he inched under the coffee table like a worm and then popped up by the fireplace.

Garrett didn't know how to hide things. It was incredibly easy to find the Floo powder in his underwear drawer. So now he was incredibly high off of the green magical powder and had a large baggie of it on his person.

He pulled the bag out and took a pinch, stepping into the fireplace.

Right as he threw it down and called out, "Two two one bee, Baker Street!" he fleetingly wondered if it was safe to Floo while high and if 221B Baker Street had a fireplace.

With a roar of the green flames, he stumbled out of a small fireplace, giggling. _Well that answers that..._

He turned around, taking in his surroundings and ignoring the dancing unicorns by the laptop - oooh, a laptop! Muggles!

"Phinny! There's a skull! Aw, innit adurabullllll!"

Phin's jaw dropped at the sight of his small, camp mate standing by the desk, his enormous emerald eyes unmistakably glazed over.

No no no fucking hell no.

"Albus. Wot. Are. You. DOING HERE."

Garrett had some serious explaining to do.

John blinked, still surprised at the speed at which Phin had moved. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, knowing that the speed was impossible for a human.

The fleeting thought that Phin wasn't human niggled at his brain, but he pushed it aside, following the young man into the living room.

John, who was right behind Sherlock, saw Albus and the instinctive "cute" switch was flicked on.

"Oh, bloody hell, he's adorable."

Albus whirled around, taking in John and Sherlock.

"YOU GUYS LOOK LIKE PHIN AND GARRETT! OH! Phin!"

The petite boy tackled the werewolf, cuddling him. "PHIN I MISSED YOU SO MUCH OHMIGAWD!"

Amazingly, Phin thudded to the floor at the force of Albus' tackle. But Phin wasn't in the mood for reunions. His heart was pounding and his head was throbbing. There were Muggles _right there._

He shoved Albus off, his temper flaring.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW STUPID YOU ARE? WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?"

It wasn't often Phin got angry, but when he did, it was rather terrifying. Not unlike a hungry animal.

"Alright, calm down! Christ, he's just a b..." John took in Albus then looked at Phin. "He's on drugs. What the hell is a nine year old -"

"I'm twelve!"

"- doing on drugs?"

"It's Floo powder, it's not actually a drug, it's just this stuff." John snatched the bag out of the boy's hands, examining the green powder and then passing it to Sherlock to look at.

"Hey that's mine! And - Phin..."

Albus looked at his angry friend fearfully. "Your eyes..."

The sight of an angry werewolf sobered the young boy quickly, and Albus was, for the first time ever, uncomfortable and scared in Phin's presence. If the rumours his dad had been hearing were true, he could be in danger right now, despite the moon just being half-full.

Phin's mood deflated quickly. He hadn't ever seen Albus scared,_ really_ scared, of _him._

Suddenly, he felt like a horrible person.

"Ah... fuck, I'm sorry Albus," he mumbled a bit sheepishly.

_Your eyes..._he had said. Phin wondered what he meant by that.

He held out a hand to help Albus up, giving him a tiny and apologetic smile.

Sherlock had retreated with the bag of "Floo powder" to the kitchen, where sat on the counter was his various contraptions for chemical experimentation.

John stood by in the living room, warily watching the young boy attack Phin in a hug and begin murmuring something softly.

"I just wanted to see you but you reminded me: Dad's been getting strange reports about werewolf attacks when the moon's not out. And...and you scared me. Your eyes looked like they were going amber. I don't want you to lose control."

Albus tightened his grip on Phin then pulled away, beaming brightly as if all was well. He pecked his mate's cheek then pulled away, shaking his head and stumbling as the last of the Floo powder's affects coursed through him.

He waved at John. "Hi, I'm Albus."

The boy spotted Sherlock tampering with the Floo powder and calmly thought, _Dad's going to be so angry with me if he finds out..._

Phin took in Albus's barely audible message with a tiny nod.

It was helpful, whatever it meant. Werewolves turning on off-nights was a frightening thought. He wondered if he ran a risk of succumbing to that change.

_Your eyes..._

Phin's headache was raging now. He sat down on the sofa and watched Albus introduce himself.

"I'm John, that's Sherlock, and what the bloody hell are you doing on drugs?"

Sherlock listened intently even as he studied the powder.

"Well, technically it's not a drug...but...it's fun? It doesn't harm my body at all, just sends me on a wacked trip. Now that I'm gaining a tolerance to it I can remember what I did while tripping, and I can control most of my actions. It's quite nice. Would you like to try some?"

With that, Phin was off the couch in a flash and gently pulling Albus away.

"Uh, no. Can't do that. Sorry. That shite's not to be messed with."

He gave Albus a look.

John was bewildered and simply shook his head, going to Sherlock in the kitchen.

"Ohh, right. Muggles. Erm..."

Albus ran into the kitchen, ducked beneath Sherlock's arms, and grabbed a handful of the powder. Then he rushed back to Phin, made sure the Muggles weren't able to see him, and hugged Phin again.

"Remember what I said. And don't get too worked up about anything. I don't want you to _change_."

He crouched in the fireplace threw the Floo powder down, stated, "The Flat, Hammersmith," and with a roar of green flames, was gone.

"Hey, Albus, wait! Has Bittie rung the-"

But the small boy had already vanished through the flames.

"-flat."

Phin shoved his hands into his pocket.

"Dammit."

He gave a glance towards the kitchen, wondering what they were doing in there. He should probably distract them from the Floo.

Sherlock set the powder down, beckoning John to follow him to the sitting room.

Albus was gone and John muttered a quiet, "Where'd he go...?" while Sherlock stabbed Phin with his gaze.

"Phineas. You need to start explaining."

_No, no, no, no... Dammit Albus!_

Phin's mind whirred, making his head throb even harder, while on the outside his face remained blank. The walls were twitching again and his fags were in the bedroom...

"Yeah. Sorry about him. He just shows up sometimes. Must've... gotten in somehow."

Ooow. Why the hell did his head hurt so much...

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I've already told you, Phin, I'm not _stupid._"

He stepped forward and with a sudden push, he shoved the young man into the arm chair behind him, leaning in and trapping him.

The detective ran his nose along Phin's jaw, murmuring, "You have an incredible sense of smell, and most likely hearing and sight as well. You moved at least half again as fast as a normal human being can. Your friend shows up out of nowhere, pre and proceeded by a roaring, flame-like sound from the fireplace. No windows were opened or shut, and he stated a vague address before simply disappearing."

The blue eyed man nipped the hazel eyed one's neck. "Not to mention your little friend sounded legitimately fearful for a brief second when looking at you. So..." Sherlock licked Phin's ear. "I'd like to know just who and what you are."

Phin's breath hitched as the detective got closer and murmured against his neck. His long fingers gripped the armchair a bit harder and he bit back a moan. His head was swimming now. This was really too much.

He sat as rigidly as he could.

"S-stop..."

"Come now, Phin. Is it so hard to tell us? We know there's something more to you. It will only be a matter of time until I find you out."

With a crook of his finger, Sherlock beckoned John to join them.

The veteran eagerly did so, coaxing Phin to look at him by cupping the younger man's face. "We won't hurt you."

The words held a meaning to more than just revealing the truth, extending over all areas. Sherlock murmured his agreement, leaving a trail of kissed down Phin's neck, biting lightly at his Adam's apple, while John pressed his lips to the man's.

Phin couldn't breathe. His heart and head were pounding and his breath came in short gasps. The walls were coming closer, threatening to trap him, trap them all, crush them until they were nothing. A single bead of sweat ran down his cheekbone, but his body felt cold, very cold.

He tried to tell them _stop, stop_, but it only came out in more slightly choked breaths. It was definitely turning him on, and the feeling collided horribly with his slowly growing panic attack, warm and cold feelings making his head boil.

He gripped the chair harder. He felt like he couldn't move.

Sherlock glanced up at Phin, pale spidery hand reaching over to the coffee table and grabbing the lighter and pack of fags.

Still kissing Phin's collarbone, he lit a fag and coaxed John away for a moment, kissing his lover while pushing the cigarette into Phin's lips.

Phin took the fag from Sherlock and stared at it. He looked up at the two men, who were briefly distracted.

He took the opportunity to dash like a madman out the door.

The couple broke away, following the fleeing man with their eyes. John sighed.

He looked at Sherlock and nodded his head in the direction Phin went. Sherlock nodded and grabbed his coat and scarf, and an umbrella, and calmly followed Phin up to the roof.

Phin fled to the upper levels of the flat, finally finding an exit to the roof. He hauled himself through and gasped in the open, fresh air. It was pouring rain, but he didn't care. He tried to stop his hands from shaking, his head from spinning, and his trousers from rising any further.

He knew he would have fucked them right then and there. And probably gladly. But he wasn't going to tell them anything.

He shivered as he finished his fag.

A minute later, an opened umbrella warded the rain off of the two tall men.

He didn't say anything as Sherlock put the umbrella up. What was he supposed to say? He crushed the end against the wall behind him and let out a final stream of smoke, which vanished in the heavy London rain. He felt incredibly heavy suddenly. And not in a pleasant, post-orgasm kind of way.

More in an "I feel like shite" sort of way. He stood under the umbrella and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Sherlock stared at Phin.

"I know you don't like your secrets revealed, but I..._we_would like to know. About you, that is. And perhaps we're pushing too fast, but that is the life we live. Fast, thorough, and clear."

He looked out at the buildings around them. "I feel no remorse for my methods, though I do apologize for any discomfort we've made you feel."

The detective paused, then held a long-fingered hand out. "Will you come back in and talk with us?"

Phin didn't take Serlock's hand. Instead, he looked at him doubtfully.

"I'm sorry, mate. I don't think you're quite prepared for this."

Sherlock gave a small smirk, dropping his hand. "I can handle anything. John, however..."

He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "But don't tell him I said that."

Phin didn't smile or laugh with him. He gave him a dark look.

"Look. If this ends up being what I think it is, you're both in danger just staying near me. It may just be best if I leave."

Sherlock huffed, staring at Phin. "With or without you in our lives, we will be in mortal danger. Just a couple months ago, John was kidnapped by a man whose profession is the opposite of mine - where I am a consulting detective, he is a consulting criminal. He strapped bombs to John and had snipers on both him and myself. We barely escaped, and he's still out there, hunting us."

The detective paused, lost in the memories of that frightful night. Then he blinked and his blue eyes focused on Phin once more. "So whatever it is you bring with you cannot make much of a difference."

"Right. What if I told you that those weren't dogs that killed that man in Trafalgar? That I know exactly what they are; maybe a little too well..."

He calmly slicked back the wet hair that was sticking to his cheeks.

Sherlock hummed in thought. "I wouldn't be surprised. The evidence was much...larger than any species of dog or wolf."

"Wolves with heightened intelligence. Wolves whose DNA is mingled with that of humans. Humans with better senses and speed and endurance and strength..."

He couldn't believe he was saying this. This went against everything.

"Humans who can track killers with just their noses and move at least twice as fast as a normal human."

His hazel eyes met Sherlock's blue eyes, seeming tired, but intense.

"Better?"

He pulled the end of his shirt down. He was thoroughly soaked. His clothes were sticking to him uncomfortably. He would have given his left arm to not be having this conversation...

His _left_ arm.

"So you're suggesting humans that are wolves, and wolves that are humans." Sherlock stared at Phin. "You're saying that werewolves exist." He paused, eyes flicking over the man. "And you're one of them."

"You can laugh if you want. I know it sounds crazy." He gazed out over the rooftops of Baker Street. "It still sounds mad to _me."_

He chuckled darkly. "But you may not want to get wrapped up in this. I plan on trying to find out more because I have an in. But you're humans. They'd kill you without a thought. And they COULD."

The smirk Sherlock gave this time was dark. "I'll forgive you because you don't know me, but Phineas...I thrive for new things."

He turned, nodding his head towards the door. "Come on, let's go plan."

"Yeah... fine."

Phin followed Sherlock back into the flat. He hoped he hadn't just ruined everything.

No, he probably had. This was a bad idea.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 05**

Sherlock bounded down the stairs, stating calmly, "Phin's a werewolf, and the attacks we've been having are werewolf attacks. Don't worry, I checked Phin's background on the internet while at Bart's. Not to mention he smells nothing like the filth that covered you last night."

He looked at Phin. "In fact, he smells absolutely delightful." He gave a wink and a click with his tongue, disappearing into the kitchen.

John looked between the two and opened his mouth, obviously confused. But then he just shook his head and smiled.

Looking at Phin, he said, "So...werewolves? Is err...Albus, right? Is Albus a werewolf, too?"

Phin shook his head, bewildered at how well they were taking this.

"No. Pff, God no. Albus isn't a werewolf. He's..."

He stopped himself.

"Very, VERY camp."

Phin glanced toward his bedroom.

"Erm... excuse me. Back in a minute..."

He trotted over to it, intent on something.

"Alright..." John watched Phin wander off, and he got up and moved into the kitchen.

Sherlock was examining the Floo powder again, his scarf and coat thrown over the back of one of the chairs at the table.

John stepped up behind his tall lover, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head on his thin back.

The numbers were so ingrained in his memory, he barely had to think to push them in on his phone.

Of course she didn't answer.

"Hey, this is Bittie! I'm off kicking ass and taking names-" -he heard the slight pause and tiny inaudible squeak she had given when he had come up behind her and bitten her neck- "- so please leave a message after the beep and the robot lady. Have a lovely day!"

"Hey. Bit. It's me." He almost lost his train of thought and forgot what he was going to say, but he picked up after a pause.

"I'm... just wondering where you are, I guess. And why you haven't called back. Or left me a message. Or a smoke signal. Or a carrier pigeon. Or... hell. I don't know."

He paused again.

"I may have just done something horrible. Ruined everything, you know. Just another day in the life, I suppose. ...Why haven't you called? It's almost been three weeks. Three weeks is too fucking long, Bittie. I... I love you. Please, call me back. Bye."

He shoved the phone in his wet pocket and walked out collapsed onto the sofa again. He decided he would claim the sofa as his own, seeing as most furniture seemed to belong to someone anyways.

Fuck them. The couch was his.

John turned his head to face the other way when he heard Phin flop onto the couch.

Sherlock made a deep growl in his chest, obviously miffed that his territory was being encroached upon.

John hid his smile in Sherlock's back, earning another growl from the man. The doctor patted the detective's stomach, leaving him to the powder and turning his attention to Phin.

He sat upon the coffee table, looking at the young man. "What's up?"

Phin moved his arm from where he had plopped it across his face to look up at John.

"Hmm? Oh. Mm. Nothing."

He had just replaced his arm when his phone began to vibrate. In barely a blink, he sat up and flipped it open.

_1 NEW MESSAGE: BITTIE_

He made a rather desperate and unmanly-sounding noise of relief aloud and clicked it open. But his stomach sank fast.

_Sorry for not responding. Things difficult. Cant contact you snuck this in have to make it fast. Dont worry im fine but please stop trying to reach me. Really. Have to turn off phone now i love you dont worry._

That was it. After three bloody weeks, that was it.

Of course he was going to call her immediately.

The phone rang once, twice. She picked it up before the third ring.

"Phin. Please. _Don't."_

Even just those three clipped words, filled with warning, were like music. It was so good to hear her voice.

"Bittie!"

"I'm dead serious. I _cannot talk to you._ I have to go. I wasn't lying. I'm going to hang up no-"

"No!" he yelled, shooting off the couch to pace the floor. "If you love me at all, Bittie, you won't do that."

Sherlock peered quietly through the door, watching, while John sat in his chair, picking at his little Union Jack pillow.

There was silence on the other end. Then a small sigh. "Please don't do this to me, Phin."

"T-... to YOU? What the hell do you MEAN 'TO YOU'? Do you have any idea what's been going through my head? I keep-"

Her voice was choked. She was crying. "I'm serious. _I HAVE. TO. GO._ I'm so, so, so sorry. I love you so much, Phin. Just... understand. Please. I love you and I'm sorry and I'm hanging up now. Goodbye."

The line went dead. Phin stared at the screen. He tried again, but this time, he got her voicemail straight away.

He stared at the phone, his face blank. He looked up at John. Then he calmly cracked open a window, tossed the phone out, and watched it land with a crack on the pavements below.

John stared at Phin. He stood and placed his hand on the younger man's arm and waited for him to look at him before opening his arms in an invitation for a hug.

Phin shook his head.

"I'm fine," he said. His face was blank.

John hid his slight hurt with a shrug, turning away.

Phin turned to Sherlock, plastering a look of enthusiasm across his face.

"Heard anything else about these four-legged murderers? Papers? Anything?"

It wasn't very convincing, but he kept it on anyways.

"Not yet," said Sherlock. "I -"

The fireplace roared with green flames and out stepped a short man with messy hair and green eyes half-hidden behind round glasses.

Right behind him was Albus.

"Dad! I told you there were Muggles here!"

The man scowled at his son. "And I told you to stay at home."

Albus scowled right back, bristling at the man. It was beyond obvious that the two did not get on.

The man turned to Phin with only a brief glance at the two Muggles staring at them (and a short double take when he saw that one of them was staring at him as if he were a puzzle). "Phineas, Albus told me about what almost happened."

"Merlin's beard, Dad! He didn't do anything! This is why I don't ever tell you anything! You fucking flipped shit on me -"

"Language, Albus!"

"- when James told you I was gay and dating Lor and Ly! You crawled my arse -"

_"Language!"_

"- about hanging with Prongs and Paddy and learning to be an Animagus and hanging with Phin and you know what? Fuck you!"

"Albus Severus Potter!"

"NO! Don't you 'Albus Severus Potter' me, you fat twat! Leave Phin alone! You have better things to do than harass my friends!"

The Head Auror looked coldly down at his second son, taking a threatening step forward, sneering when the blond Muggle placed a hand on his arm and pulled him away from Albus.

Phin couldn't help but secretly acknowledge how brave John was. He was sure it was terrifying for Muggles to see raging madmen in funny clothing propelling through their fireplaces as if they were doorways, and yet he stepped right up to Harry and intervened. Phin's respect for him grew tremendously.

But he still pulled Albus behind him, perhaps a little protectively, and tapped Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, and The Defeater of The Dark Lord on the shoulder.

"See, we have these things called doors..." he said with a little smirk, "...which one generally knocks upon and THEN comes through when one wants to speak to someone in the private vicinity of their own home. Seeing as you haven't done that, I'm going to assume this is probably... what would the Ministry say? 'Of grave importance'. Also, I would recommend you lower your voice and use kinder words. We do have neighbors, you know, and it is rather late. I'm sure everyone would greatly appreciate it." He gave Harry another smile and glanced over to the kitchen.

"Sherlock, would you make some tea? We have a guest."

He gave Albus's arm, which he still held gently, a tiny squeeze.

John shot a glance at Sherlock, nodding. The detective moved back into the kitchen and began boiling water.

John, on the other hand, turned a stern military gaze to the man who was a fair bit shorter than himself.

"I don't know if you were going to hit Albus, but I'd rather not risk that. A blind man could see that you and your son don't get on, and frankly I take offense to your apparent homophobia. Now, please calm down and sit, or leave our flat."

The man before him bristled, and John felt the strangest sensation of electricity rushing around him.

Harry's magic flared, but he forcibly calmed himself.

"Yes, _Phineas_, it is of grave importance. Your...kind -"

"Werewolves? Is this about the werewolf attacks?"

Harry cut a scathing glare at the blond Muggle, then turned it on his dad's best mate's grandson. "Yes, werewolves. Even Remus has been subjected to changing when the moon is not full, but only when he was under great duress or strong emotions."

Albus piped up from behind Phin. "Yeah, the other week Prongs and Paddy pulled a spectacular prank that scared the shite out of Moony and Moony turned into...well, _Moony_. If Paddy and Prongs and I hadn't turned into our Animagus forms, we would have probably been attacked."

"Yes," Harry hissed, glaring at his son, "But the werewolf attacks are not accidents. There is a pack, a break off of Greyback's, that is running about - mostly London - and attacking wizard and Muggle alike."

"Wizard? Is that what you are?"

Harry looked at John. "Speaking of, I need to _oblivate_ these two Muggles. I can't believe you'd let it slip as to what you are."

The Auror pulled his wand from his robes, aiming it at the blond.

Quick as a flash, Phin darted in front of John.

"Careful there," he said to Harry, his voice low. "You hit me instead, I lose my memory and change right here... could be bad, couldn't it?"

Phin's heart was in his throat and pounding hard. This was a swirling whirlwind of shite spewing off the fan blades.

Goddammit.

"I had to, Harry," he said, wondering vaguely if "Mr. Potter" would have been more appropriate. "They're detectives. They pieced it together on their own and with me on their side, we may progress further in this mystery. There've already been killings nearby and I-... our kind can do a better job of tracking them than anyone, Ministry, Order, or Muggle. They're not going to give anything away."

He hoped.

_Please, let me not have been in Ravenclaw for nothing..._ Phin thought, watching Harry carefully.

Sherlock came in with tea, setting it down and moving to stand by John.

With a slight nudge of his hip, Sherlock sent a clear message to his lover.

John's gun was hidden in the back of his waistband.

John placed his hand on the warmed metal, looking as if he'd simply placed a hand on his lover's back.

"Yes," said Sherlock, "We've been tracking these attacks for months now. Without Phin, I wouldn't have been able to find out what was truly behind the murders."

Sherlock would thank Phin later; even he could tell that Phin was placing a huge amount of trust in himself and John.

Harry's eyebrows seemed to furrow even further, and Albus briefly wondered if his face would freeze like that - or if Prongs knew any spells that would freeze it like that.

The Auror gritted his teeth. "Fine. You and your _detectives_ can go about this. But if I catch one hint of this reaching the news...I'll throw you to the Dementors with pleasure."

Harry turned towards the fireplace. "Come, Albus."

The tiny boy sneered. "Fuck you. I'll go where I want."

Harry whirled around, magic crackling around him and took two steps forward until a soft metallic click made him look at the gun pointed straight at his chest.

"I would go home and cool off, Mr. Potter," said the brunette Muggle. He stood slightly behind the man with the gun, clear out of the firing range. "John is an incredibly good shooter. He could injure you without killing you quite easily from a distance twenty times this; he will most assuredly succeed at this close range.

"Your son obviously can travel safely by himself, so please just go home."

Harry snarled, shoving his wand in his robes and stalking to the fireplace. He pulled a handful of powder from one pocket, glaring at his son. "Don't expect to not be punished young man," he said, before calling out, "Floo room, Potter Manor!" as he threw the powder down, green flames engulfing him.

Albus sagged against Phin, trembling lightly. "I'm moving in with Prongs."

A hooded man stood unseen in the alley across the street, observing what he could in the flat. One thing was certain: he was definitely on the right track. The figure tensed when he saw a green light come from the fire place.

"Shit, wizards too. This is no ordinary hunt at all."

Feeling he had gathered all the information he need to plan his next move the man slipped into the shadows, sliding a discarded cell phone into his pocket, intent on dissecting the contents of the phone when he returned to his hotel.

Back in the flat, Phin let out a sigh of relief and put his arms around Albus's shoulders as the small, trembling boy leaned against him. He didn't protest or complain or snark or roll his eyes. He just nodded and stood there with him.

"I'm going to move in with Prongs."

"Probably a good idea."

He turned to look at John and Sherlock, still standing nearby, John with the gun in his hand. He couldn't even imagine what must be going through their heads...

John lowered the gun, taking a breath. Then he turned to Albus and opened his arms for a good hug.

He wrapped the tiny boy in his arms, pretending like he didn't feel the tremors racking the small body.

Sherlock stepped up to Phin, looking him in the eye. "Thank you. He was going to erase our memories. I would not have appreciated that at all."

John nodded, having moved to sit on the floor and cuddle the twelve year old.

"Who's Prongs?" he asked the boy.

Albus curled up into the man's chest, feeling safe. "Prongs is my Granpa James. It's his nickname, because his Animagus form is a deer. Mine is too."

Phin watched John and Albus for a minute and turned to nod to Sherlock.

"Of course," he said. "You're my-"

Was "friends" even appropriate?

"...-flatmates."

The twelve year old looked up at Phin. "So how's life here?"

Phin glanced at the open window and thought about his phone laying on the wet ground. He thought about his panic attack, snogging Sherlock, and werewolf attacks.

"Uuuh. Fine."

Sherlock stared at Phin. "Yes...fine."

John rolled his eyes. "Anyways, how about that tea?"

"Tea? What kind?" Albus jumped up and moved over to the coffee table, smelling the tea.

Phin gave another look out the open window as the others made tea.

His phone was missing from the pavements below...

A few kilometers away, Derek Argent reached the inn that he was staying at. It was three stories tall and windowless on three of four of its sides, which seemed quite odd to the man.

"There was a package for you Mr. Argent: I placed it in your room," said the secretary at the desk. She was an elderly woman with a feeling of sadness that hung around her like a blanket. She had the look of someone who had seen a great deal of both sad and bizarre events in her life.

"Thank you, I will be going to my room early tonight. Please do not interrupt me unless it's important."

"Of course."

Derek walked the stairs up to his 3rd floor room. Room 303. The room was simple enough: one person bed, nightstand, a small dresser for clothes, a TV in the corner, and a desk. One thing that Derek didn't like about the hotel was that the bathroom was shared.

A wooden box lay on the bed with a letter sitting on top of it. Derek immediately went to the box and tore open the letter.

_Mr. Argent,  
>In this box you shall fine all the tools you requested. Please call the Authority to confirm you received this package.<em>

Derek tossed the letter on the bed and faced the box. He was tired and decided to wait until the morning to make the call. He tucked the box under the bed and undressed. He traced the scars that scattered his body, reminding him of all the successful hunts, and the unsuccessful ones.

He shook his head; it was no time to think about that. He crawled into to bed and produced a knife from under his pillow. It was made of silver, and had a design that looked gruesome. Before he fell asleep he grabbed one last thing from his coat: a ten inch redwood, phoenix-feather cored wand, which he laid on his chest in a defensive pose.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 06**

The next morning dawned early and grey. It was drizzling outside as Sherlock stared out the window, pondering the werewolf problem.

John shuffled into the living room, snorting softly at the sight of Albus curled up in a tiny ball, nestled into a few blankets with a couple more over him.

Phin sat in the sill of an open window, overlooking Baker Street. It was cold, but he didn't really care. He was wrapped up in a grey sweater and nursing a fag. He was getting that cabin-feverish feeling again. He had to do _something..._

But _what?_

He reached his arm out to crush his fag against the wall and hurried back to his room.

He was going to find something to do, dammit.

John sat in his armchair, smiling brightly as Albus laughed. He had just told the boy that he and Sherlock had snogged Phin, and the young boy seemed incredibly amused.

Albus giggled and ran to Phin's room, flopping on his bed and staring at him.

"So...do you liiiiiiiike theeeemmmm?"

Phin rolled his eyes.

"Will you at _least_ wait until I have trousers on to ask me stupid, sing-song questions?"

Phin finished getting dressed and didn't even bother to kick Albus out. There really wasn't any point.

He raised an eyebrow at him. "Now WHAT did you want?"

"Your flatmates, Phin! Do you like them? They told me they snogged you. So, do you like them?" Albus rolled around on the bed, being his usual excited self.

"Sure," Phin said blandly, heading out the door.

"You do? So go snog them!"

He knew this would infuriate Albus. He pulled a sweater over his head and decided to explore the flat. Surely, there was something to do. Even if he had to drone out Albus to do it.

Albus watched Phin walk away. "Phin. Phin! Bollocks."

The boy scrambled off the bed, tumbling on to the ground before scrambling to stand up, chasing after his long-legged friend.

"Phin! Phin, come on, talk to me. What's up? What's wrong? I can tell something's wrong, come on, tell me! You know you love me, you want to tell me, I can help."

There is was. It stood in a corner of the flat's bottom floor, just hidden in the hallway near a closet, dusty and topped with a few pictures of former tenants and London scenes. The top was slightly warped and he could tell just by looking at it how out-of-tune it would be. Some of the keys were cracked or missing their ivory tops. There were endless rings from tea mugs placed on it over time. He didn't care.

It was beautiful.

Phin ignored Albus. He slipped onto the creaky wooden bench and smoothed his fingers over the upright piano's mismatched keys.

He smiled.

Albus scowled. Then he began climbing the piano, walking along it on all fours like a chameleon until he got to the middle and flopped on top of everything.

"Come on, Phin, you can ignore me all you want but I'm just gonna keep bugging you until you get angry and talk to me, just like always."

Phin's hands slammed down across the keys, banging out a jazzy melody half-remembered from somewhere and half made up on the spot. He was grinning now. He let his hands fly, doing all the work. He couldn't hear Albus.

It was loud, clashing, bursting. It was probably scaring the shite out of the whole flat.

He didn't care. It was like sex; it was a complete release. Something he didn't have to think about- just _do._

He even gave Albus a small, shit-eating glance, just to bother him.

Sherlock and John looked down the stairs, staring at Phin.

Then Sherlock disappeared and came back with his violin, listening.

After a moment of catching the tune, he joined in, giving John a tiny smirk.

The doctor rolled his eyes, settling back against the wall to listen.

Still playing, Sherlock danced down the steps, resting one bony hip against the piano.

Phin startled a bit out of his trance and grinned like a madman at Sherlock.

Albus stared.

Despite wanting to talk to Phin, this was just...fabulous.

He jumped off the piano and ran up the stairs to drag John down, dancing crazily to the music. Sherlock's smirk grew, and his eyes danced with mirth as he watched the tiny boy drag John into a dance.

A very ridiculous dance.

Working the melody back around to a song he sort of knew, the werewolf began to sing. Sort of loudly and randomly and only half-trying, really. It didn't matter. There was something about this that felt really good, just slipping out of time and becoming someone else for a minute.

Snark be damned. He sang like he meant it.

Albus giggled happily, and decided that glitter was needed.

Glitter was always needed.

So he conjured a bit of glitter into his hands and threw them into the air.

Phin laughed as John and Albus danced, and with a final uplifting chord, he ended the song. He grinned again up at Sherlock.

And then, without warning, he pulled Sherlock down and kissed him hard.

The detective moaned into the kiss, shifting to get a better angle. He straddled Phin, knees resting on the piano bench.

Long, pale fingers tangled into Phin's hair as Sherlock opened his mouth, running his tongue over the younger male's lips.

Albus stared. He just...stared.

Was it wrong to be turned on by watching your best mate make out with his new flatmate?

Probably.

Albus squeaked, his face turning bright red.

He glanced up at John, who was simply staring in awe.

The twelve year old didn't know whether to feel mortified or to giggle. So instead he crept away up the stairs and to the fireplace, Flooing away as quietly as possibly.

Phin smiled through the kiss and put a hand on either of Sherlock's hips, pulling him closer and deeper into it. He pushed his tongue harder into his mouth and bit his lower lip.

Grabbing the collars of Sherlock's coat, Phin pulled him down, nudging his knee in between Sherlock's legs.

John made a noise in the back of his throat, unsure if he should just watch or not.

Sherlock's blue eyes opened and flicked up to look at his blond lover, his gaze inviting.

Without anymore hesitation, John pressed against Phin's back, pressing his lips against the youngest man's neck.

John slipped his fingers beneath Phin's shirt, ghosting over the skin and massaging it, biting and sucking on his shoulder.

Pressing his front flush against Phin's, Sherlock ground his hips into the werewolf's. One hand left Phin's mess of dark hair to grip small tufts of John's, tugging lightly.

Phin moaned low and his back arched against John's torso. He pushed himself further against Sherlock and his fingers tried to wrap themselves in his thick coat. That wouldn't do.

Phin began to unbutton it.

Sherlock's grip tightened in both men's hair, but then his grip slackened.

He pulled away slightly, lips and nose brushing Phin's. His voice was low, just barely audible.

"We should move this up to the flat. I'm sure you don't want Mrs. Hudson walking in on us."

John slowed his creation of a lovebite, nodding against Phin's neck.

The two pulled away, but even as they did, the detective continued the werewolf's work by unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. John smiled, his hands lingering on Phin's sides under the shirt.

Phin blinked at Sherlock's words and glanced down.

Oh. Right. They were sprawled all over the piano.

Phin wondered fleetingly about the strange chords one could make while fucking on a piano...

He gave Sherlock a sly grin and lightly bit John's neck as he followed them quickly up the stairs.

Strange... this didn't feel bad at all. In fact, he could get used to this.

Once up in the flat, the door shut and locked, Sherlock yanked Phin into a searing kiss, fingers plucking impatiently at the hem of his shirt.

Sherlock broke away to pull his shirt off, and John took the opportunity to pull Phin down for a snog.

The detective moved behind John, sandwiching him between the two brunettes.

Phin leaned into Sherlock's kiss, helping him by yanking his shirt up over his head and tossing it across the room.

As Sherlock stepped away, he cupped John's face in one hand, pulling it closer to meet his lips, while the other hand slowly slipped down his torso to trace the bulge in his jeans. He bit John's lip sharply and squeezed.

John groaned, leaning into the touch. He broke the kiss, looking up at Phin with half-lidded eyes. Sherlock took the opportunity to capture the werewolf's lips again.

The doctor squirmed out from between the brunettes and tugged his cardigan over his head, watching as Sherlock pulled Phin towards their bedroom.

The back of the detective's knees hit the bed and he fell back, pulling Phin on top of him. John followed, planting kisses along Phin's back.

The dark-haired werewolf smirked at the detective underneath him from his hands and knees. He shivered a bit from John's touch and bent to leave a trail of gentle nips on Sherlock's neck. One hand brushed back the detective's dark curls while the other whispered down his stomach to undo his trousers.

John pulled off his shirt and shucked his trousers off before smoothing his hands over Phin's sides and pressing his boxer-clad arousal against the man's arse. His mouth found the hickey he'd been working on before.

Below them, Sherlock lifted his hips with a soft moan, encouraging Phin to pull them down. His own spidery hands swiftly undid the werewolf's trousers, one of them disappearing beneath the fabric to grip the hard cock they hid.

Phin gave a long gasp and his hands clenched Sherlock's trousers tightly as the detective's hands worked their way through his boxers. He could feel John rubbing against him and trailing kisses across his back. His breath came out in moans and hitches, and it took him some time to remember what he had been doing.

His tongue slipped into Sherlock's mouth again as he pulled the older man's trousers down. His long hand cupped the bulge in his pants and he kissed him harder.

The doctor hummed, murmuring in Phin's ear, "How d'you want to do this? Lock and I are fine with whatever you want." His fingers hooked onto the man's trousers and pulled them down.

John's voice startled Phin. Talking? Why was he _talking?_ Phin put a stop to that by pulling John's lips to his.

He gave him a breathy laugh. "Just... keep going!" he said with a grin. He turned back towards Sherlock and gave him a wicked smile, leaning down to kiss him.

Sherlock groaned, thrusting up into the werewolf's hand and hissing out his agreement. He squeezed the hard length in his hand lightly, stroking it. His thumb caressed the base as his mouth ravished Phin's, teeth nipping at his lips. He took a moment to fully analyze his taste - smoke, of course, but also _wild_.

He quite liked it.

Maybe Phin'd been a bit unfair to Albus over Lor and Ly. He was beginning to understand this whole gay threesome thing when he gently bit Sherlock's nipples.

The detective arched into Phin's mouth, breathing heavily. His blue eyes connected with John's brown ones, and then Sherlock was pulling the blond forwards, crashing their lips together. His hand, however, was still firmly stroking Phin's cock.

Phin shivered in pleasure, a small rush traveling down his spine. He watched John and Sherlock kiss and joined in, sending tiny nips down John's stomach.

John shivered, Phin's lips leaving trails of tingles.

With a sudden idea, a sudden hunger, the veteran broke away from Sherlock and pulled Phin away, pushing the werewolf onto his back next to the detective.

The blond pulled Phin's pants off and paused for just a moment to take in the hard cock before him.

With a mischievous smirk that one usually never saw on John Watson's face, the doctor wrapped his lips around the head of Phin's cock, sucking lightly.

Phin let out a deep sigh and tangled his fingers in John's hair, just lightly enough to still hold on. His breathing grew shallower and he reached out for Sherlock lying next to him. He pulled him closer, his teeth catching against the detective's collarbone.

John moaned, bobbing his head and taking as much of Phin's cock into his mouth as he could. Swallowing around the sensitive organ, he flattened his tongue over the underside, rubbing it.

Sherlock bit his lip, pressing forward into the other brunette. His hand cupped Phin's jaw and slid up into the mess of curls, and he leant down to nuzzle the werewolf's neck.

Phin's back curled, and he almost sat up as John's mouth moved rhythmically across his cock. His neck automatically moved closer to Sherlock's mouth, and Phin ran his fingers down his torso.

Sherlock bit down on Phin's neck, sucking and nibbling to break the capillaries beneath the skin and draw the blood up. The detective placed the mark high on the werewolf's neck, pleased that he could claim Phin as his. Such a basic instinct, but one the genius indulged in nonetheless.

John's brown eyes watched the two brunettes, mouth eagerly working Phin's cock but he pulled away, his hand taking its place. His mouth moved to Phin's hip, teeth scraping at the skin over the bone.

Phin drew in a sharp breath as John's mouth moved to his hip bones. He groaned low and pressed his hips closer to John's face. The tiny sensation of breaking between Sherlock's teeth scraping his neck made him gasp aloud, and his hands clutched the bedsheets, trembling.

He felt trapped between them, and yet he felt that he never wanted to leave.

Sherlock pulled back, examining the mark. It was already dark red, and would flourish into a dark purple mark later.

He glanced at John and then rolled over to the side of the bed. He pulled out the top drawer on the bedside table, long fingers easily locating the bottle of lube.

Turning back to Phin, he leant down to kiss the man, hands popping the top and squirting some of the slick liquid into his palm. His hand wrapped around Phin's cock, taking over for John.

The doctor groaned in anticipation, taking the lube from his lover and slicking his own palm up. He wrapped his hand around his own cock, mouth now intent on leaving a hickey on the werewolf's hip.

Phin could feel the tiny sting of the welt on his neck. He understood what it meant. Of course he did. Territory was one of his areas of expertise.

And Sherlock was proclaiming himself Alpha. Interesting.

Phin left Sherlock's hand to its task and reached out to John, the doctor's head bent over his torso. He tilted the blonde's head up with a hand and stared right into his eyes for one intense second. Then, a tiny smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, he dipped his head to bite fiercely just above John's collarbone, grinning as he kneaded a small welt with his teeth. His hand closed gently around the smaller man's cock and his thumb rubbed it slowly.

It wasn't too late to make himself Beta.

John growled low in his throat, deciding enough was enough.

He yanked Phin up for a searing kiss then pulled away, pushing Sherlock down onto his back. As he climbed between Sherlock's legs he tugged Phin to follow him.

Kissing the werewolf, he said, "Fuck me."

Then he lifted Sherlock's hips and guided himself into the detective, delighting in the low, throaty moan Sherlock emitted.

Phin smiled and watched John's face shift as he entered Sherlock. He leaned with a low chuckle over the doctor and licked his ear.

"Gladly."

Pushing John's head down gently, Phin traced the length of John's spine slowly with his tongue, making sure to coat each small hill. He left a neat kiss at the small of his back and lifted his head. Blowing a stream of smoke-flavoured breath over the thin, glistening line, he reveled in John's shiver.

Then, pulling the doctor's hips towards him, Phin pushed himself inside.

Sherlock watched his two lovers with an intense gaze, biting his lip at the pleasurable, slight burn that accompanied being filled.

One hand traced the scar on John's left shoulder, the evidence of his time spent in Afghanistan, while the other reached further upwards to caress Phin's face.

With a shift of his hips, he caused John to groan. The veteran's grip on his hips tightened and Sherlock arched when John thrust further into him.

John clenched around the man behind him, wanting to push forward into Sherlock and press back into Phin at the same time.

Phin groaned as John clenched around him. He pulled himself closer to him and gripped the smaller man's hips, alternating between fast and slow thrusts.

He gave a gentle nip to one of the detective's fingertips as they caressed his face. He gave the pale man a wicked grin and thrust himself deeply into John. Phin kissed Sherlock's palm and leaned down to part the man's lips with a sharp kiss.

Sherlock opened his lips eagerly, tongue pushing forward to meet Phin's. He gave a muffled keening noise as John began to thrust at a steady pace and pushed himself up onto his elbows even as he arched into John's mouth when the doctor latched onto his collarbone.

Phin kept deep contact with Sherlock's lips, finally breaking away to take breaths and let out small sounds of pleasure as John moved. He pulled his head away and clenched the doctor's hips, starting to move at a faster pace. His warm breath caressed John's neck and hair.

Sherlock let his head fall back. A groan turned into a plea for more, more of everything. Then he felt John brush against his prostate and he let his elbows slide out from beneath him, flopping onto the bed with a gasp.

John grinned even as he shivered, Phin's breath causing goosepimples to rise. His thrusts began to become sharper, rougher; his right hand left Sherlock's hip to tangle into mess of dark curls over his shoulder, grip tight and almost painful.

Phin groaned as John shifted and his speed changed. He gripped the man's hips tighter and shifted his speed along with him. He leaned forward over him to gently set his teeth into the man's neck.

Sherlock lifted his arms up, one hand cupping John's neck and the other reaching out to grip Phin's shoulder, short nails digging into the flesh.

_"John...Phi-iinnnnnnn!"_ he keened.

John groaned, his head cocking to the side to give Phin more access. His left arm shifted to pull Sherlock's leg up and fold it up farther, giving him a better angle. The hand he had wrapped into Phin's hair slid down to the werewolf's hip and tightened.

His hips snapped forward faster, and he breathed out, "Christ...I'm...ungh, _close_..."

Phin bit down harder on John's neck his fingertips ghosted down the man's side. He was panting. He ended his bite with a kiss and leaned forward to whisper in the man's ear.

"Then let me...hah... help you..."

Phin began to speed up, his hips thrusting back and forth quickly and deeply.

"Christ, oh Jesus, fuck!" John hissed out, his eyes shutting and his head tipping back.

Sherlock, on the other hand, gave a deep throaty moan, only audible by the sheer volume. His eyes blossomed open, blue orbs intense and wide.

"Fucking yes, God, Phin, John, more, _oh God._" His thin lithe body arched and his right hand left John's neck, moving down to tug on his own prick, squeezing tight from root to tip.

"I...I'm..._God yes,_ so close..." he said, voice rumbling through his chest.

Phin removed a hand from one of John's hips and let it slide down Sherlock's torso and between his legs, finding the man's slim hand to already be there. He stroked the head of the detective's cock, his hand moving in time with John's thrusts.

He was by far not as vocal as the other two men, but his breath came in short gasps and his unoccupied hand was clenching John's hip with immense strength. He tried his best to hold himself in check, but it was difficult. He'd already left slight bruises there and he was moaning and gasping alternately.

"Ah- aaaaaah..."

He was close.

"Fuck...yes...like that, G_od!_" Sherlock's back arched as he came, his anus clenching around John and his cock pulsing. His hot cum spilled onto Phin's fingers and his own stomach.

John groaned, the noise starting desperate as his partner clenched around him and then lowering into a sound of ultimate satisfaction as he spilled into the detective.

His hand on Phin's hip dug its nails into the werewolf's flesh and dragged, leaving red marks.

Phin hissed as John's nails dug across his taut flesh. His limbs were shaking now, and his breathing becoming desperate. He could feel them both finish beneath him and John clench around him as he came. Phin couldn't stand it any longer. With a long moan, he pulled out, his warm cum spilling across John's back.

"Aaaah... _fuck!"_

He leaned over John on all fours, catching his ragged breath. Sweat dripped off of him and his muscles throbbed, but the feeling was euphoric. He looked down at his flatmates.

John gingerly pulled out of Sherlock, both men moaning as their extra sensitive flesh was stimulated.

The doctor sat up, pushing Phin back up in the process, and turned around to give him a slow, languid kiss.

He broke it off with a breathy chuckle, brown eyes happy and content.

"Come on, let's shower."

He took Phin's hand, giggling when Sherlock smacked his arse as he trailed behind them.

The bathroom was shared between the two bedrooms, with a double sink and a large shower, but no tub. Sherlock looked at the door that led to Phin's room thoughtfully as John started the water, waiting for it to heat up.

"Perhaps we should turn Phin's room into a study and buy a larger bed. Unless, of course," he turned to the younger male, "You'd rather not sleep with us."

Phin considered how unintentionally loaded that question was with a smile. He was a private person. He was probably going to need his own room. Besides, if he was going to be dropping fags everywhere and making the house smell funny, he may as well have a concentrated place to do it.

Oooh, he could go for a fag right now. It was the best feeling in the world as far as he was concerned. There was no better way to smoke than post-orgasm.

He stepped into the now-warming shower with a sigh and soaked his face.

"I think I'll keep my room, nothing personal," Phin said, giving them a thoughtful smile. "I need a space... But that doesn't mean I won't be... mmm... popping in occasionally." His grin widened and his head emerged, hair plastered to his face.

"You coming in or wot?"

John smiled, stepping into the shower. Sherlock followed him and shut the sliding glass door.

He reached over his smaller companion to grasp John's shampoo and poured some in his palm. He ushered the blond under the spray of the water, briefly smirking at the memories he always thought of when he remembered that they had a hand-held showerhead. Then he gestured for the blond to come forward so he could lather the shampoo into his short hair.

John did so happily. He glanced up at Phin and eyed his long hair. "I think you should look into getting a haircut."

"I am curious as to what you look like with long hair, though," Sherlock said, also looking at Phin.

Phin snorted and rubbed shampoo into his own hair.

"Then it's decided," he said with a smirk. "My hair stays a bloody mess and we're all happy with the compromise."

They both seemed awfully interested in him. He supposed that made him feel...

He wasn't really sure. Being the center of attention was never his favorite position to be in, although for some reason, he seemed to find himself there often. Why was it that people found him so interesting? He wasn't. He scrubbed soap on his face and stuck his head underneath the streaming water.

The detective washed his hands and then stuck his head under the spray, grabbing his own shampoo.

He lathered it in, did a quick lather over his body (paying special attention to the cum stains on his stomach), and then rinsed off. With a tiny smile and a wink, he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.

John shoved his head under the water, scrubbing the soap out. Blinking water out of his eyes, he looked up a Phin and smiled.

Phin blinked water from his eyes and watched them leave. He liked that about them. They seemed to sense what he was feeling and respond accordingly. He turned off the water, dried himself off along with them and collected his clothing from their bedroom (their _entire_ bedroom) and pulled on his clothes. He sighed in his thick, grey sweater and grabbed his fags from his room.

A quick smoke. Some fresh air. That was all. Then he'd pop right back up. No sense getting the flat all... faggy.

Or was it already.

Phin chuckled to himself over that pun and hopped down the stairs, nearly running chest-first (damn being tall) into a short figure with dark blond hair and a stylish, tailored coat.

"Oh, sorry, mate I-"

But Phin's words cut off as he found himself staring straight into the dark blue eyes of his best friend.

"Garrett?"


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 07**

Garrett Weston was _furious._ No... he was...

_SEETHING._

NO! Even better- he was...

...going to kill Phineas Remus Black, his very very very bestest friend in the whole entire universe and beyond, forever and ever and ever, with his bare hands.

Oooh, Phin was going to get it. GET IT SO BAD. It was one thing to NOT ANSWER HIS NUMEROUS AND INCREASINGLY PANICKED TEXT MESSAGES AND IGNORE HIS PHONE CALLS...

But another entirely to be having hot, delicious gay sex with his stranger flatmates and NOT. TELL. HIM.

Even worse, he had to find out through Albus. Albus Potter, little rotter.

No. NO. Unacceptable.

So here he was, foot pressing down madly on the acceleration of his enormous beloved Queen Cynthia, luggage hastily thrown together, shopping still inside the massive van and a terrified Albus hugging his knees and staring out in horror at London traffic as Garrett drove as though he were escaping flames.

"What did you say the address was?" Garrett asked Albus in a clipped, calm tone.

Albus gulped audibly. "T-two twenty-one B. B-baker Str- THAT'S A TRUCK!"

"I know, I know." Garrett swerved nauseatingly and took a street to his left. "That's wot I thought it was."

He parked with a flourish and a squeal of brakes. He calmly opened Albus' door and helped the shaking twelve-year-old down. He grabbed his suitcase and a few bags. Walking straight up to the front door.

Albus hefted his small bag. "I still don't see w-why we didn't just Ap-"

"Shut up." Garrett said, knocking on the door.

Albus was silent.

He breezed past the eggplant-clad landlady-whatever, and climbed the stairs at a steady pace, prepping his speech in his head.

Phineas Black you wan-

With a thud, Garrett hit something warm and flat. He looked up and found himself staring right into the surprised face of his best friend.

For a moment, he was silent. And then he began to yell.

"FOR CHRIST'S BLOODY FUCKING SAKE, PHINEAS. YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE. I AM GOING TO KILL YOU WITH MY STUBBY, BARE HANDS AND YOU WILL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY SO HELP ME.- BUT... Hey. This place is nice..."

Garrett made an effort to frown again.

"-BUT YOU ARE GOING TO TAKE ME TO YOUR FLAT SO I CAN YELL AT YOU PROPERLY AND IN THE VICINITY OF GAY MEN."

He gave a little _hmmph_ and watched as Phin led him in a slight daze, unlit fag in hand, upstairs.

Good. Wanker...

Sherlock and John poked their heads out of the living room, having dressed and gone down to the kitchen for food - well, food for John and a small snack for Sherlock.

"What's with the yelling?" John called out.

Albus shot up the stairs, threw his bag down, and grabbed the closest body - which happened to be Sherlock.

With his little face buried in Sherlock's stomach, the boy's voice was muffled but loud nonetheless. "OH MY GOD I ALMOST DIED LIKE FIVE TIMES PLEASE DON'T LET GARRETT DRIVE ME ANYWHERE I'LL DO ANYTHING FOR YOUUUUU!"

Phin gestured apologetically to Garrett and gave John a smile that included an uncomfortable wince.

"Erm... this is Garrett, my...mate. And Garrett.-" He gestured to Sherlock and John.

"Meet Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."

Garrett looked them both over briefly, raising an eyebrow. He walked over to John, sized him up, and then walked over to Sherlock and followed suit.

He turned briefly to Albus, then to Phin, then to Albus again and his eyes widened.

"Oh my god you're RIGHT. They ARE fucking."

He turned to Phin and his eyes narrowed.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE HAVING SEX WITH TWO ADORABLE MEN? WHAT, AM I JUST NOT SPECIAL ANYMORE?"

He gave Phin a pouty look and slapped him on the arm.

"AND WAY TO RETURN MY CALLS, WANKER! ALSO, I BOUGHT YOU TROUSERS."

Phin threw up his hands defensively. "My phone's gone! I haven't gotten ANY..."

He stopped and raised an eyebrow at Garrett. "Wait wot trousers why?"

John blinked. He opened his mouth, but then decided to not say anything. Instead he took another bite of his Nutella and jam sandwich.

Sherlock awkwardly patted Albus' head.

Albus turned his head, looking up at Phin, confused. "What happened to your phone?"

"Erm... yeah. Kind of a funny story..." Phin said to Albus in response. "It sort of... got bunged out a window." He gave Albus a blank look.

Before Garrett could speak, Phin held up his unlit cigarette.

"Give me a minute."

Before Garrett could even lift a finger to stop him, he was out the door.

"Hmmph," Garrett said, narrowing his eyes as he watched him go.

Holding out a shopping bag, he looked Sherlock over.

"Fine. YOU try on these trousers."

He shoved the bag into Sherlock's arms.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow but gently detached Albus, guided him to latch on to John, and took the trousers, heading off to the loo to change.

Albus happily cuddled into John's side.

Phin stepped hurriedly outside into the chilly air and lit his fag.

Oh, fags after sex, even after as long as it had been, were so wonderful. The taste, the feel, the sme-

The smell.

THAT smell. Phin tensed automatically and whirled around, but he felt something crack at the base of his skull and his eyes fluttered back into his head.

The last thing he saw was a wide, glinting smirk. Sharp teeth. After that, everything went black.

Garrett watched Sherlock go with satisfaction.

He turned to John and Albus and sighed.

Just breathe, let it all out, everything is fine.

Ah. Better.

"So. This is a nice flat you've got."

Of course, he wasn't curious about that in the least. What he was curious about, however, was _why was Phin fucking these men, and how could he get some._

The door to the loo opened again, and then Sherlock was standing before them, slacks over his left arm.

There, below his light blue, tailored button up and his charcoal black suit jacket with the shirt tucked in, was a pair of skin tight, dark, soft skinny jeans. They hugged every single curve and angle on the detective, bunching slightly at the ankle where they met his dress shoes.

OH THIS MAN WAS DELICIOUS...

And he would actually WEAR the clothing Garrett would buy him.

The ex-Hufflepuff wondered briefly if he could trade Phin for him...

John's jaw dropped, eyes devouring every inch of the man's long skinny legs, made longer and skinnier by the jeans.

"Oh, I just want to rip those right back off of you."

Sherlock gave a smirk, winking, before he checked his watch. "It takes approximately two minutes for a Woodbine cigarette to burn down to the filter. It's been five minutes."

He gave John a meaningful look, grabbing his coat and scarf and pulling them on as he quickly ran down the stairs.

The doctor pulled Albus off of his body and grabbed his leather jacket, rushing after his lover.

The twelve year old looked up at Garrett with large, fearful eyes. "What if Phin's not okay?"

"You know," he said, with only a hint of anxiety as he re-fastened his coat, "It's completely like him to just wander off. I'm sure he's FINE..."

But there was another part of him, a part of him that had known Phin far too long, that wasn't so sure. He followed them out the door.

Sherlock stepped out the door and immediately gagged. He grabbed a handful of his scarf and placed it over his mouth and nose, blinking away tears from the strong, pungent scent.

John coughed as he inhaled the scent, hiding the lower half of his face in the crook of his arm.

"Christ, please tell me it's not the fags that smell like that."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, no, this is the scent that was all over you the other night." He vaguely registered Albus and Garrett coming outside as well.

He checked around for anything that could help him.

Something on the ground caught his eye.

The detective picked it up and held it close for inspection: a Woodbine fag, the exact kind Phin had, burned down to the filter. The way it had burned - at least at the very end - was slow, for a sizable chunk of ash maintained its grip to the filter. f it had burned fast with the help of inhalation, the ash would have crumbled away the instant Sherlock had picked it up. There was also a large pile of ash on the ground, all disintegrated into a nice little line.

Which meant the fag had been on the ground for a while.

Taking a glove off, he gingerly touched the ash pile on the filter. It was cold.

Sherlock began talking aloud to John, a frequent habit when he didn't have his skull on hand - and also to enlighten the other man and help the doctor see how he figured out things. It was insurance for the possible occasion in which Sherlock was incapacitated or kidnapped and John would need to find him.

"He lit up as soon as he stepped out of the door, but dropped the cigarette after two or three drags. He's been gone about..." he checked his watch. "Ten minutes now. It's enough time for someone to knock him out and take him somewhere else, or threaten him into a cab. But if he had gone semi-willingly, he wouldn't leave his cigarette - he would be stressed and would need it to stay calm. So he was kidnapped."

His blue eyes, made an icy pale colour by the greyish natural lighting, flickered around the street. "Given that it's the middle of the afternoon, he was knocked out and kidnapped by someone bigger, stronger, and faster than he. Mostly likely another werewolf, someone who could attack and leave in record time and not draw the attention of humans nearby. Definitely male; female wolves are not usually stronger than males, and the same most likely applies to werewolves.

"Since it was obviously a werewolf, he could be anywhere in a five kilometer radius. It's unlikely that the werewolf would use human transportation; these wolves have been running through London the past few months and are never seen in human or wolf form. Their actions speak of taking pleasure in brutality and their animalistic instincts; even Anderson would be able to tell there was something off about someone like that. So he went on foot, carrying Phin over the shoulder because he has no care for Phin's comfort. He would have to take back alleys to avoid human attention, and would most likely take Phin to a warehouse. _Dull_..."

Sherlock ran through the map of London in his brain, thinking of all the back alleys that led to warehouses within five kilometers or so.

"The Thames. He's most likely in one of the warehouses by the Thames."

Sherlock hailed a cab, sliding in with John, Albus, and Garrett right behind.

As the cab door slammed close and John told the cabbie to take them to the Thames, warehouse district, Albus stared in complete awe at Sherlock.

"That was fucking amazing! Can you teach me?"

When Phin woke up, the girl between his legs was staring at him.

Her huge, dull eyes bored a hole in his forehead. There was no life there, and everything about the way she held her pallid face was slack, lifeless, doomed.

His vision was blurry. He was sick by the shallow way she breathed.

No... _he_ breathed.

The girl had no body.

He choked and gasped, tossing the decapitated, still-bloody head away from him. He gripped the floor on all fours, taking deep, gasping breaths, forcing himself to not vomit.

_Oh, God. Oh, God. OH, GOD._

His hands grew cold on the cement floor. He wasn't wearing his jacket.

Someone else had it.

He could tell by the snicker when he moved. He couldn't see the figure. But he could see the smoke he breathed out. He was like a dragon. A huge, silhouetted, dragon figure. Phin's head swam so violently that he fell to his side hard on his hip.

"See wot 'appens when yeh get caught up in fengs?" the figure breathed.

Phin just watched the man approach him. He was enormous and burly, taller even than Phin himself and wider by far. He was covered in the scars and wounds that didn't afflict Phin as often as they did other wolves. His hair was scraggly and his eyes were a bright, glowing amber.

"Yeh get wot she got."

Phin looked across at the head, which had rolled nauseatingly into a corner of the room. How old could she have been? Twelve? Thirteen?

The figure grabbed Phin's jaw roughly in his had and pulled it towards him. Phin couldn't match the man's strength. He couldn't pull himself away.

"So I suggest, _mate,_ for your own good, yeh leave London. This en't your terri'try, and if we find yeh been changin' on ours..."

He licked his thick lips, which were slick with blood, and leveled his face with Phin's.

"You'll get worse n' wot she got. Y'understan'?"

He shoved Phin roughly to the floor, tossing his jacket back onto him.

He left, leaving Phin alone with the head.

When the figure had gone and he could stand again, Phin leaned heavily against the wall.

It wasn't a room, as he had suspected, but a warehouse. A massive one.

Entirely empty.

Why he had been dragged out here, warned, and then left alone with a poor girl's head, he couldn't say.

For now, there were two things he was certain of.

1) There had been another killing. Probably more.  
>2) If he stayed in London, he would die.<p>

He didn't intend to leave London, and he certainly didn't want to die.

So that left only one option.

Go back to the flat and come up with a plan.

He staggered to the warehouse door and moaned, sliding down the side. His head throbbed and his vision was half stars and half blurs. He had been hit hard.

He could see water through his dizziness.

_The Thames..._

Well, at least there was that.

Derek almost felt bad for this "Phin" character as he listened to yet another death threat from some guy name Garrett. Derek was certain now that Phin was a werewolf; the texts he found on the phone assured him of that. But with wizards involved he had to be more cautious about that particular wolf.

"Well, let's go try out the new toys," Derek said as he pulled on a black trench coat and stowed away the wooden box he had received into a back pack.

The alley was dirty, Derek thought, but then again so are all alleys. It was a dead end alley with boxes and trash cans littering the sides. From his coat Derek retrieved a small glass vial filled with a clear liquid. He unscrewed the top of the vial and spilled it at the furthest end of the alley. He then climbed into one of the boxes and hid, waiting for his prey to take the bait.

As he got settled in the phone in his pocket rang. The caller ID said it was Bittie. He would have to remember to investigate this "Bittie" later, but for now, it was time to hunt. Derek turned off the phone and placed it in his pocket. If he was lucky, his prey would show up before nightfall.

It was almost nightfall and still no bite. Derek was getting anxious; a werewolf during the day was a simple enough problem, but at night and with such strange circumstances, he dared not risk it.

Just before he was about to give up and head out he heard someone enter the alley. Loud sniffing came from behind Derek as the arrival stepped closer and closer until Derek could see the figure's back. It was a man, in his early thirties. Long unkempt hair covered most of the man's face. The man stepped further into the alley, still sniffing, searching for that enticing aroma.

Derek stepped out from his hiding place and the man turned around quickly, glasses flashing in the setting sunlight.

"Picked the wrong alley my friend," said Derek, raising his wand from his cloak and aiming it at the man.

The man jumped back frightened by the sudden arrival of the hunter. Then he smiled, and started breathing heavily. "Picked the wrong wolf, my _friend_," growled the man, saying the word 'friend' as if he detested each letter.

The man growled once more and bared his teeth. Two long fangs caught Derek's attention. _What? He's changing already? But the sun hasn't even set yet!_ thought Derek, his heart beat rising. The man leaped towards Derek with tremendous speed, an outstretched claw aiming for his throat. Before the werewolf could reach Derek, the wizard shouted "_Incendio!"_ Flames engulfed the wolf, bringing him down to the ground.

The wolf chuckled. "Hope you can do better than that."

Derek stared in disbelief as the flames dissipated and the wolf stood before him, unharmed.

A man stumbled out of the alley, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead. His shirt had a huge gash mark made by three claws. He turned to face his assailant.

"You have no idea what's going on, do you, hunter? You can't defeat us. Run while you still can."

Derek pulled a small gun from his coat and aimed it at the werewolf.

"A gun? After all this you think a gun will save you?"

The wizard smirked as he pulled the trigger. The sides of the gun unfolded and transformed the gun into a crossbow. In the same instant a silver bolt flew from the barrel. The bolt embedded itself into the werewolf's shoulder, knocking him back a few feet. A small whirring could be heard from the bolt as the tip spun, digging itself deeper into the flesh of its victim. A silver liquid dripped from the wound, turning the skin it touched black.

The wolf screamed in pain as he fell to his knees. He looked up and snarled at Derek, who aimed the crossbow at the werewolf and said, "Don't underestimate the Authority." Derek pulled the trigger once more and this time a bolt met the brow of the werewolf, silencing his screams.

Looking around, the American found the street was deserted. He dragged the body of the fallen werewolf back into the alley and placed it against the brick wall. A quick _incendio_ set the body aflame. Now that he knew what he was dealing with he had to contact The Authority and let them know how severe the matter was. He limped out of the alley way and started to make his way to his hotel.

The walk had drained him of his remaining energy. The receptionist at the desk raised an eyebrow as he walked in but turned back to her newspaper.

"Rough night?" she asked, sounding uninterested.

"Um, yeah, seeing the sights and what not," replied Derek, heading up the stairs.

The secretary shook her head as he disappeared upstairs. "And I thought sex was wild in _my_ day."

Derek reached his room and undressed. The gash on his forehead and the claw mark on his chest were still pulsing with pain. He turned on the water and waiting for it to warm up. He examined the fresh wounds that would scar over the next couple of days.

He was only fourteen when the Authority claimed him as a hunter. Scars where nothing new to him, but he wondered how much longer he would last. Being twenty-nine, he was the only hunter to live past twenty-five. The fights were getting to him. He looked down at his hands, calloused from the years of hard work. He vowed to quit after this London job. He needed to settle down with a pretty girl, or hell, a pretty man would do just as well.

He started the shower, hoping he'd live to quit.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 08**

_Come on... get up._

Phin groaned and tried to hoist himself to his feet.

_Get UP, you lazy fucking wanker. GET UP..._

He tried harder, using a small ledge at the edge of the warehouse, hooking his fingers across it.

He slipped down clumsily and landed in a heap exactly where he'd started.

Why was he so exhausted? It was exactly what he normally experienced after changing on a full moon; a long period of fatigue and examining of wounds. Except there were no wounds; he was fine. And he hadn't changed.

Had he?

_That girl... the head._

It couldn't have been him... the other wolf had blood on his lips.

But if there were any police officers who had heard and were coming to investigate... this wasn't going to look very good. He shoved his hands into his pockets and sat against the wall.

_Shite..._

Wait.

Rooting around in his pocket, he discovered that he had been robbed of an almost-full packet of fags and a fiver.

_You bastard,_ Phin thought, gently beating the back of his head against the wall.

_Ow..._

This definitely put a damper on his night.

Garrett was stunned as he followed Sherlock and Holmes madly through London.

They were amazing! Real detectives! Like people you'd find in a book...

_Hang on, Phineas... _he thought, his heart pounding. _We're coming._

Sherlock gave a small smile to Albus. "Start observing. I'll test you later."

John grinned as he looked out the window.

Soon the cabbie pulled up to the warehouse district and John quickly paid him as Sherlock shot out of the car, taking off.

John wasn't far behind him, beckoning Garrett and Albus on.

Albus had to run to keep up with Mr. Holmes' long legs, but he didn't let that deter his new task: _observing._

He didn't know what exactly he was supposed to be looking for, but he realized that he was beginning to notice things he would have never paid attention to before. Like the myriads of oil spots, and dried, half washed away patches of old blood, making him shiver as he realized crimes probably happened here a lot.

And no one knew because no one observed.

His large green eyes were taking everything in, all the browns of the stained warehouse walls, the greys and the blacks, and the pale of a dead body -

_What._

Albus stopped, calling out to the detective. "Mr. Holmes...I...I think there's a..."

The tall man ran to him and looked in the direction of his gaze. Albus followed when he ran to investigate.

"Female, only a few hours dead...Christ, she was only as old as Albus," Dr. Watson said. Albus choked down the urge to vomit in horror.

"She was left in the open. They wanted someone to notice and call the police. They're trying to set Phin up."

The twelve year old's brain stopped being horrified the instant Mr. Holmes' words sunk in. "No. Phin wouldn't do this and I won't let anyone pin it on him."

He looked around, finding a painfully obvious trail of blood leading around the warehouse before them. He followed it cautiously, aware that Mr. Holmes was following him. As he came around the corner to the back of the building, he saw a familiar figure slumped against the wall.

And covered in blood.

_"Phin!"_

"And did those feeeeet..."

Wheeze.

"In ancient tiiiiiimes..."

Gasp.

"Walk upon England's mountaaaains greeeeen..."

Cough.

Ugh. It had been forever. Phin's nerves were going mad. Someone was going to find him here. He knew it.

So he sang. Half out of boredom, half out of a half-arsed plan to play wino when the poilce came. Maybe they would believe he HAD just been a drunk young man who stumbled blindly against the warehouse and didn't know any better. Maybe they'd shoot him on the spot. BANG, BANG.

As Albus would put it, FUCK DA POH-LEESE.

Hehe.

Phin hadn't eaten in a while, he was dizzy, his thoughts were running into each other like bumper cars.

Ba-bump.

Like his heart.

He sighed and shifted uncomfortably on the pavements, his lungs feeling crushed and his arse wet and in pain from the water and hard ground.

There was something crusty on his neck. He hoped it wasn't blood. But, knowing his luck, it probably was.

Luck.

Luck was green, wasn't it?

Like those big floating orbs.

Wait... no, not orbs.

_Eyes._

"ALBUS!" Phin cried out, ending with a huge smile and a wet cough. Pure, honest relief pulsed through him.

Oh he was so happy to see him...

And he wasn't even embarrassed.

Garrett had been beyond freaking out, beyond flipping shit.

When he saw the blood, he wouldn't have been afraid to admit that he blinked back tears.

If he lost him, that stupid, snarky, gangly oaf who was far too clever and pretty for his own fucking good...

Who would annoy the hell out of him for the rest of his life?

His throat closed up a bit, but when Albus yelled and Garrett saw Phin's head snap up, he let out a cry of relief.

"PHIN!"

He ran after Albus.

"OH, THANK FUCKING GOD, YOU BIG, STUPID TOSSER!"

Sherlock and John knelt beside Phin, the doctor checking him over for wounds. The detective's head snapped up when Albus pulled out a long, thin piece of wood and pointed it at Phin. The boy murmured something that sounded like Latin and suddenly all of the blood was gone.

The Slytherin pulled his pale fourteen and a half inch long hawthorn-and-phoenix-feather wand from the charmed holster on his thigh. A quick _scourgify_ cleaned the blood off his friend.

"Phin, you're bloody fucking stupid, you know that? Where's your wand? You could have cleaned yourself up but no. You just sit there and scare the buggering fuck out of me. And Garrett. And your feckin' boyfriends." Albus scowled. "Now, are you hurt? I can heal that."

Phin was so relieved he could have kissed the small boy. He gave him a slightly loopy smile, realizing for the very first time how big and lovely his eyes were.

"My wand is in my bag at home... And my bag isn't here, _obviously_. S'not like he gave me TIME to nip back and get it..." He lifted his head up and turned the back of it towards Albus to reveal a sticky, scabbing gash on at the base of his skull.

"And yes. I am hurt. And fucking hungry."

Garrett watched Albus carefully seal the wound. He turned to the other men.

"What about the girl?"

Sherlock's phone was out and a text was sent within seconds. "Detective Inspector Lestrade is on his way."

A quick _episkey_ healed the head wound, and another spell took away any side effects the wound would have caused, like a headache, blurry vision, and dizziness.

Albus tapped his wand against his lips, deliberating on something, but shrugged and decided he valued his friend's health more than the moral standings of a Gryffindor.

"_Accio uneaten and fresh sandwich. Accio Phin's bag._ I hope you packed extra fags."

After a good few minutes, Phin watched everything rush towards him with a _whoosh._ The bag bumped gently against his chest and the sandwich landed neatly on top.

He wondered who Albus had nicked it from.

He ate it quickly.

_Oh, somebody's going to miss this..._

He finished it and held out an arm to Garrett.

"Help me up."

Garrett helped Phin up, slinging the werewolf's long arm around his shoulders for him.

"Can you walk?"

Phin stumbled for a few steps, but seemed to be quickly regaining his balance.

"Yeah... I'm alright."

Garrett watched as he trudged carefully over to the other two men, fishing a crinkled fag from his bag and lighting it, giving them grim looks and surveying the scene.

Sherlock looked over Phin carefully as the younger man approached. "Are you alright?"

John blinked away memories of a darkened swimming pool at the phrase.

Phin nodded.

"I think so. If not, then I'll be alright. I just need a nap, a snog, and a fag." He grinned. "And not necessarily in that order."

The two men smiled, pulling Phin towards them. Sherlock tilted his head up slightly to kiss the werewolf, and John hugged the man gently biting his chest through his shirt.

Garrett crossed his arms and bit his lip through an upset scowl.

"What's _with_ him?" he mumbled to Albus.

Albus looked up at Garrett as if _he_ was the child. "He hasn't heard from Bittie in three weeks, he just moved in with two blokes who are entrenched in solving crimes, there are werewolves rampaging through London, he's _fucking_ his flatmates after just meeting them which probably means something went sour with Bittie, he's just been kidnapped, and he had no fags. What _isn't_ with him, Garrett?"

"I just... I don't get him sometimes." He sighed and tugged Albus along.

"Come on. They're preoccupied. Let's go back to Baker Street. Or, if you'd rather, back home." He pulled his coat tighter. "They're going to be busy a while."

Albus sighed. "No, Garrett, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I was just saying..."

He shrugged, squeezing the man's hand. "Besides, I wanna stay and learn from Mr. Ho...lmes..."

He had turned his head to gesture at the detective only to slow his speech as he watched Sherlock and Phin kiss.

No, that wasn't a kiss. That was a full on snog session that looked way too sexual for anywhere not behind closed doors.

His green eyes flicked to the police cars pulling up, covering a giggle as a grey haired man, a woman, and a rat faced man arrived and stared at the trio. He decided not to inform the three of their arrival and instead pulled Garrett over to them.

The grey haired man looked like he was in charge, so Albus said, "Hi, I'm Albus. Mr. Holmes is obviously preoccupied, but I can tell you what we found. Garrett here can help, too."

"That is so, wildly, horribly inappropriate, that there are no adequate words in the English language to describe it. They are being so insensitive, I bet their nerve endings are-"

But whatever quip he was about to spill was interrupted as Albus informed the newcoming group that they could help.

Garrett gave Albus a _NO WE MOST DEFINITELY CANNOT_ look.

Albus rolled his eyes at Garrett. "Right, so, Phin - the one that's not Dr. Watson or Mr. Holmes, in case you needed help - no, not that one. That's Mr. Holmes. Yeah, Phin's taller than Mr. Holmes. Anyways, so Phin's their new flatmate, and then earlier this afternoon - maybe an hour ago? He got kidnapped and brought here and Mr. Holmes did this brilliant thing and figured out where Phin would be and we found him here. We also found a dead body of a girl. Decapitated. Dr. Watson said my age - I'm twelve - and dead a few hours. We don't know where her head is."

He beamed up at the man. "What's your name again? I'm Albus."

Gregory stared down at the fast-talking child, eyes flicking over to the disgruntled looking blond next to him.

"I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade, Albus. And, er, thank you for the information. Just a moment."

He took out his mobile and zoomed in on the threesome a little ways away. He took a picture and then attached it to a message.

_You owe me ten quid. Maybe more for the new bloke._

He put the phone away, a tiny smirk showing through on his stoic face. "Right, when're they gonna finish?"

People were staring. People were most DEFINITELY staring. Phin didn't give a damn. In fact, he only pulled Sherlock tighter to him, pressing John closer in the act.

It was a strange high, snogging after seeing something as horrid as that unfold. But it felt _fantastic._

All he wanted to do now was curl up and sleep forever in these two sets of arms. He was exhausted.

But he could snog them a little longer.

John lightly pressed his crotch against Phin's thigh, groaning softly as the contact stimulated his half-hard cock. He nuzzled into Phin's chest.

He had thought that when they were found out - when those rumours that he and Sherlock were fucking were confirmed - that he'd feel...oppressed. He realized he simply didn't give a shite.

And he knew Sherlock couldn't be arsed about almost anything that included social niceties.

Phin moved his lips quickly from Sherlock's to John's, but his hands traveled swiftly down Sherlock's back, coming to rest on the man's-

Well,_ hello._

He glanced over the small blond's shoulder to Sherlock, smirking and raising an eyebrow.

"What are _these?_"

He gave the man's arse a gentle squeeze.

Garrett rolled his eyes skyward and pulled out his phone.

Goddammit, Phin. Goddammit, Albus. What was he supposed to-

Ooooooh shit.

_1 NEW MESSAGE: BITTIE._

Garrett winced and opened the message.

Bittie paced around the flat. She flopped down across the couch. She curled up on a barstool behind her countertop.

But it was no use. She felt horrible.

Her friend Trace looked up from stroking her girlfriend's hair on Bittie's couch. The punk blonde and her bookish Joanne were entwined around each other lovingly, watching episode after episode of _I Love Lucy._

"Come on, Bit. It's not like he's DIED or anything."

She almost choked. _You don't know that._

"Yeah," she said, her voice sounding small. "I guess you're right."

But deep down, she knew. Anything could be happening. If only she could know WHAT.

Earlier, he'd sounded so _hurt_ on the phone. Hanging up on his desperate-sounding pleas ... ugh.

But he_ had_ to understand. He _had_ to. They wouldn't let her leave.

"Come on Bittie," Joanne said, pushing her glasses up her nose a bit more. "Just come hang out with us for a while. I'm sure he's fine."

Bittie sighed, watching her small bare feet grip the barstool anxiously. It was cold in here. She missed him.

He made the nights less lonely and the flat less cold. And she kept making too many scrambled eggs. And ordering chinese takeaw-... takeout... and having nobody to share it with.

She missed his voice. She missed that dumb, sexy accent. She missed the piano and the house and the flat and the pub and the way he laughed and his arms and his smell and goddammit she even missed those _fucking cigarettes..._

She sent a quick text to Garrett and slipped off the stool to bury herself in her friend's nest of stupid T.V. and their stupid love and their stupid popcorn.

She hated them for having each other nearby, for knowing the other was safe. She hated her coven for keeping her here, for threatening her so she couldn't leave.

She hated him for hating her. Even if she loved him madly.

_Garrett, where is he?_

Sherlock smirked at Phin. "Your friend Garrett said these were for you, then told me to put them on when you went out for a smoke."

John opened his mouth to add something but groaned in disappointment when Lestrade called them over.

"Oi, you lot. Stop having sex and get over here."

Phin broke away with a visual promise they would get back to this later and an unabashed stare at Sherlock's arse before following them.

Eeeeven if he wasn't qualified for this in the least.

Albus giggled and looked up at Garrett to share the hilarity, but paused when he saw his expression. "Garrett...Garrett, what's wrong?"

Garrett bit his lip and his eyebrows creased. He handed the message to Albus, letting him scan it.

_Garrett, where is he?_

"Well... she got back to us alright."

Sherlock strode towards Lestrade, pointedly ignoring Sergeant Sally Donovan and Anderson. He quickly relayed exactly when Albus had, though with greater detail.

He still left out the bit about werewolves, though.

Phin nodded and added his input during the appropriate times. He was glad Sherlock was careful enough to leave out anything...

Whimsical.

Blimey fuck, he hated that word. He was tired, and scanning each cab that went by made him want to go home and sleep for a very long time.

Albus scanned the message from Bittie and schooled his face to not show his surprise and the gut-wrenching stress that suddenly overtook him.

"Tell her Phin's fine and you're with him. He lost his phone - no surprise - but don't tell Phin about this. We'll tell him later, back at Baker Street."

Garrett sighed and took his phone back from Albus.

"Alright... God, this makes me feel like shite..."

_don't worry-he's with us. that wanker lost his phone again. we'll sort it out. but he's busy doing something so i'll give him the message later. much love, garrett, albus,-_

Garrett stopped. He bit his lip and added the last few characters and hit SEND.

_& phin._

That was it? _He was busy doing something?_

Now she knew he didn't want to talk to her.

She flew off the couch and closed the bathroom door behind her, dialing. She could hear her friends sigh and stay silent.

She got his voicemail.

"Hi. This is Phin. Leave me a message or leave me be."

-BEEP-

"Stop it, Phin. Please. I'm trying to apologize. I want to tell you how much I love you. I only have certain pockets of time when I can tell they're not paying attention... This is so hard for me and it only makes it harder when you-"

She sniffed a bit.

"-when you ignore me like this. Please. I have to talk to you. Call me back."

She hung up and sighed, standing alone on the bath mat.

"You know more than you're telling me."

Sherlock gave Lestrade a pleased smirk. "Yes, but I'm sure Mycroft will tell you all about it on your next date. And no, they didn't hear." He nodded to Anderson and Sally who were out of earshot and quietly talking to each other. "Now, if you don't mind..."

He strode off, calling out to Albus.

Albus gave Garrett a meaningful look and then ran to catch up to Mr. Holmes.

He watched as Dr. Watson hail a cab, pondering the best way to tell Phin about this contact with Bittie. He clambered in after Garrett, trying his best to not look worried or gnaw on his cuticles as he was wont to do when stressed. If both he and Garrett looked worried, Phin would know something was up.

As it was, he was certain Mr. Holmes knew there was something afoot; the man kept staring at him. He locked gazes with the detective, flicked his eyes to Phin, then pulled out his own phone pointedly.

The man's face showed understanding. Then he looked out the window.

Gregory sighed. He really was getting too old for this.

"Alright you lot, let's get this place taped off."


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 09**

The whole cab ride home, Phin was falling asleep.

Mad sex, kidnappings, and a lack of fags does that to one, he supposed. After nearly thirty seconds of sleep, the cab slid to a halt in front of 221B. He snapped awake and followed everyone groggily into the flat.

He dropped down onto the sofa, face buried in a pillow.

OH BLIMEY IT FELT SO GOOD...

Garrett watched him and frowned. He set his phone on the coffee table and went to move his luggage into Phin's room.

Or at least he assumed it was Phin's room. The one with the unmade bed, cracked ashtray and pants all over the floor usually was.

He pulled the tags off the other jeans he'd bought for Phin and shoved them in his drawer.

Oh, he'd never know until an hour after he put them on anyway...

Sherlock came up the stairs and sat in his armchair, a sneer firmly in place.

"Hello, Mycroft."

John rolled his eyes and wandered into the kitchen, muttering about ridiculous sibling rivalries and how even Harry and he got on better.

Mycroft smiled at his brother. "Sherlock. Mummy sends her regards."

Then he turned to the man on the couch. "Phineas, pleasure to meet you. As a welcoming present, I took the liberty of deactivating your other phone and buying you this one. All information and messages have been transferred to this one." He stood, umbrella in one hand, and placed a shiny new phone on the coffee table next to Phin. "Welcome to the family. And you as well, John."

Phin cracked an eye and watched, absolutely still, as the man placed a new phone on the table next to him.

God dammit. Now STRANGERS were buying him phones?

Ugh.

"You're not here for a pleasurable chat, Mycroft. I still don't understand how you can have the flat bugged and have lost the bet with your boyfriend."

The smile the elder Holmes gave his brother was entirely fake and clearly showed his wearing patience. "Yes, well...you've been informed of the magical world now, so I have a file of information for you about these werewolf attacks."

Phin perked up as soon as the other man started talking about werewolves and wizards.

This was too far.

"Oi, that's enough, alright? I-"

But Albus tugged his arm and led him somewhere else.

"What?" Phin hissed. "Did you hear them in there? I can't just bloody have them throwing all of this around!"

He had bags under his eyes. He was tired and crabby and was going to need a fag break soon.

"No, come on, your room." Albus dragged him up to the second floor, finding Garrett there.

"Sit." He pushed Phin on the bed and sighed.

"Right, so Garrett got a text from Bittie back at the warehouse. I didn't want to tell you in public, so I told Garrett to lie. If you get angry, get angry at me. Now here's your phone. Call Bittie or something."

Albus took a step back, hesitated, then threw himself at Phin, hugging him. "I love you. Don't ever scare me like that again."

Phin looked long and hard at the phone in his hands.

"What."

There she was. She could easily have been just on the other side of this phone. A few quick buttons and he'd hear her lovely voice again. He already knew the numbers.

So why were his fingers frozen?

Garrett stared at Phin, the word _antici-...pation!_ ringing in his mind.

He broke the silence after an infuriating fifteen seconds.

"Well?"

"Hush!" Albus smacked Garrett's arm. "If he doesn't want to call her, he doesn't have to!"

Phin took a deep breath, and then clicked the buttons with madman speed.

She picked it up on the first ring.

"Phin?"

"Bittie!"

They were each silent for a long time.

Then they both started speaking.

"I should have tried-"

"I'm sorry I-"

"No, you first."

"I-I'm sorry I didn't tell you before I left."

"I was worried."

"I know..."

"I thought they'd done something."

"I know. And I'm-"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I know them too well! They'd have killed you. Easily. You know what they can do."

"And they know what I can do. I killed him. They know that."

"Yes but... uugh. What were you going to say?"

"I... I don't know. Just... in general. I'm sorry for being a complete tosser. I have been. I don't mean it."

"I know."

"..."

"You soun-"

"How come you-"

"You first."

"How come you're on the phone now?"

"They're _in deliberation._ Ugh. How come nobody's at the flat? I rung..."

"We're in London. I... moved out... for a while. I've got flatmates."

"Oh. I... are you... staying there for a while?"

"I don't know. I was. Yeah. Maybe. When are you coming back?"

"Anytime between now and when I die."

"Oh. Right."

"..."

"Love... are you crying?"

"It's... it's just so good to hear from you. I miss you so much. I miss everything. I miss you and Garrett and Albus and the flat and... God, I even miss stupid England."

"Heh. Trust me... stupid England really misses you back..."

"You sound tired."

"Exhausted."

"Am I bothering you?"

"Never."

"Okay."

"..."

"I love you."

"I love you to-"

"No. I mean... I _really_ love you. I don't want us to be angry at each other. And... and I may need to call you back at some point and talk to you about something else, but I really need to sleep and have a fag and-"

"Go. They're calling me down again anyway..."

"Okay."

"... Please don't cry."

"I hate this! I hate this so much! This is killing me! They have no regard for anything but their own stupid opinions. You know what? Even if it did cost us this, I'm GLAD you killed him. He was just like the rest of them in the end."

"I don't regret it."

"Good."

"... I love you. I have to go. I'm sorry. I'll call you again."

"I love you too. Keep calm and carry on?"

"Hah. I can hear the smirk. I will."

"Good. Go kick their arses."

"If I could I would."

"I know."

"Bye, love."

"Bye, darling..."

Phin clicked the phone off once he heard her line go dead and let out a huge sigh. The pit in his stomach had grown massive. He leaned against the wall and looked up at the ceiling.

Garrett watched Phin close the phone.

Well. That was that.

He looked briefly at Albus.

Bittie hung up the phone and wiped her eyes.

She felt the familiar mental pang she got when they called her.

_We're waiting for you..._

She slipped her shoes on and trotted out the door.

"I'll be back in a bit, guys. There's more popcorn."

The two girls looked up, confused.

"Oh...okay."

Bittie closed the door quietly behind her.

"So..." Albus looked at Phin. "What happens now?"

He hoped Phin understood the unspoken questions of _What are you going to do about Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson? What happens with this crazy werewolf case?_

Phin checked his watch.

"Now? We wait."

And with that, he trotted downstairs to the flat.

Garrett rolled his eyes.

"Ever the clarifier, is he not?"

He went to follow Phin.

The living room was awkwardly silent except for the sound of Sherlock playing his violin as if he were an amateur. The notes were flat, squeaky, and sour.

John sat at the kitchen table, face buried in one hand and the other curled around a cup of tea. He looked up as Phin and his friends came down and rolled his eyes. "Would you do something about this?"

He was about to say something else when the door to 221B Baker Street flew open and slammed closed. Footsteps, taking two stairs at a time, sounded out and then DI Lestrade was standing in the doorway.

Mycroft's expression went from wearing-thin patience and tolerance to something happy and excited. "Gregory."

Albus hid a giggle behind his hand at the sight of DI Lestrade and Mr. Holmes' brother so adorably in love. Then his eyes slid over to Phin's form and he tugged the man's shirt. "Oi, Phin...if you don't talk to them, I will."

Albus sat down on the couch, eyeing Phin before picking up a random file about a previous case lying on the coffee table. He began reading it, Mr. Holmes' neat writing marking notes on the side of the printed text. Some of the photos churned his stomach for a moment, but the boy forced himself to think objectively about it all.

He was quickly engrossed in the file, tuning out the rest of the flat.

"Mycroft." Gregory smiled, and then it turned into a smirk. "Pay up."

As the elder Holmes sighed and pulled out fifteen quid, the Detective Inspector turned to Sherlock. "There's been another murder, but it's completely different. Body's burnt to a crisp, not a dog attack."

Sherlock nodded absently to Lestrade, placing his violin and box down.

Phin padded over to Sherlock and knelt next to his armchair. He put a hand on the man's arm and looked into his pale blue eyes.

"Sherlock?"

"Mycroft, go talk with your boyfriend or something."

The man sighed but stood from his chair nonetheless, handing Gregory the fifteen quid as he led the man out of the door to quietly talk.

Sherlock turned to Phin. "Yes?"

Phin laid both his arms flat on the arm of the chair and looked steadily at Sherlock.

"What's wrong." He didn't say it as a question.

The detective frowned, confused, but then with a silent, "Oh," and a slight tilt of his head, Sherlock said, "Ah, yes. Mycroft. My brother. He likes to meddle in my life."

Phin gave Sherlock a lazy smile and stretched out a long arm to play with a lock of his dark hair.

"Mmhmm. I know the feeling."

He tugged the lock to pull Sherlock's face closer to him.

"Wanna feel better?"

The corners of Sherlock's lips turned up just slightly. "I would find that incredibly pleasurable." The detective leant up and pressed his lips to Phin's for a slow, soft kiss.

Garrett decided to just go sit with John in the kitchen.

He slid onto a chair next to him and simply said "Erm... hi."

John lifted his head from his hand frowning slightly as he pulled himself from his thoughts. Then he smiled. "Hi."

Garrett sat in silence through an awkward pause.

"Sooo you're all fucking each other."

John grinned. "Yeah...we're all shagging." His eyes looked over at his dark-haired lovers and he nudged Garrett. "Look, maybe we'll get a show."

Albus's bright green eyes peered over the manila folder, narrowing.

He really wasn't kidding. He was going to tell Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson about Bittie if Phin didn't.

But for now...he turned back to the case, studying it.

Phin tangled his hand in Sherlock's hair and pressed deeper into the kiss.

_Mmmm..._

It felt amazing, brilliant, aaah.

Garrett nodded.

"Right. And I assume everyone is well-aware of Phin's long-standing, vampire girlfriend?"

While Sherlock thoroughly snogged Phin, John's mind had seemed to stop working.

"His what?"

Albus barely caught Garrett's words, but in an instant he was tossing the file down and at the table, glaring at the ex-Hufflepuff.

"Smooth, Garrett." He threw his hands up and began hissing in Parseltongue, cursing Garrett from head to toe. John didn't need to know what exactly he was saying to know he was incredibly angry.

Albus was really tempted to actually whip out his wand and use some choice Marauder-brand spells on the man.

Phin broke away from Sherlock, his curses just brushing the man's lips.

FUCK his hearing.

"Dammit, Garrett."

Garrett frowned. "Yeah. Okay. When the hell were we supposed to tell them? How were we supposed to _work our way up to_ the fact that Phin's girlfriend SUCKS. BLOOD."

John stared. "Yeah, that's a little disturbing..."

Sherlock huffed through his nose. "We already knew he had a girlfriend. His girlfriend's name is Bittie and gave him that watch. He also threw out his phone after a conversation with the woman. And the added information of vampirism does not surprise me. Werewolves and wizards; I'm certain vampires, dragons, and unicorns would not be strangers to your world."

Albus stopped and blinked. He looked at Mr. Holmes and then at Dr. Watson.

Phin sat by the armchair, watching this exchange pass between everyone.

He sighed, stood up, and fingered a fag.

"Right... so... when we're all through discussing my sex life..."

He stuck the fag into his mouth.

"I think I'll have a nap."

Garrett threw his hands up and rolled his eyes skyward.

"Ugh. Bloody hell, Phin. You're such a whore."

John looked at Phin, empathizing with his pain. "We might need you though. For the new murder." He shot Sherlock a look. "But I promise we'll come back as soon as possible. And _sleep_."

Phin nodded.

Ugh.

"Fine... but I'm going to need a fag."

"Hmm, a nap would be beneficial to both of you. So we'll take a two hour nap; I don't need either of you falling behind, should we be attacked when investigating the murder."

The detective stood. "Phin, you'll sleep with us and Garrett and Albus can take your room and-or the couch. I'll just tell Lestrade about it."

He opened the door and stopped, staring.

"Mycroft, please stop examining Gregory's tonsils with your tongue. And leave. We'll be at the crime scene in a couple hours."

Phin trudged to their bedroom before both of them and plopped facedown onto the bed. It had been a huge day. He didn't feel like moving, so he just grabbed a balled-up pillow and shoved his face into it.

Nothing felt better than a fag after sex.

Except for a big squishy bed after both of those.

Garrett headed up to Phin's room and looked around. He'd sleep with Albus. He didn't really care.

After all that worry, a nap sounded fantastic.

He finally kicked off his shoes and tossed his coat onto a wooden chair. He slid onto one side of the bed and rolled over, staring at the ceiling.

Soon John and Sherlock followed after their younger lover. They clambered onto the bed, one on either side of Phin, and lay down to sleep.

Well, John would sleep. Sherlock would most likely be spending the time to think in silence.

Sherlock pressed his body against Phin's, one spidery hand stroking through his mess of curls, and on the other side John cuddled into the werewolf.

Albus watched everyone leave, including Mr. Holmes' brother and DI Lestrade, but decided to stay put. He wasn't tired, and so he picked up another file and began to read through it.

Phin looped an arm around John's waist and sighed deeply, leaning his head back against Sherlock.

They smelled fantastic. Sherlock something like yarn and rain, and John smelled of earth and warmth.

He drank in their scents and drifted off quickly.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

_He was in a long hallway lined with family photos but the faces of the people in the photos had all been burned. A window occupied the end of the hall, and to the left was an open door. His heart started pounding but he was unsure why. This hallway seemed familiar, like he had been there many times. He stepped slowly towards the open door slowly._

_The closer he got the more his heart beat against the inside of his chest. If there was any other sound it was drowned out by the rhythmic thumps. As he reached the door the beating stopped, and all was silent. He walked into the room to find a bedroom._

_The bedroom had colonial furniture: a queen size bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. But what caught his attention was the blood. There was blood on the ceiling, on the floor, and a streak across the left wall. At the center of the gore was a woman lying on the bed. She had light brown hair, pale skin. Her white night gown had been stained red. Two small holes in her neck were oozing a steady stream of life force. He gasped and he started to panic. He turned to leave the room but a woman dressed in all black robes, her face covered by her long black hair, stood in the doorway._

_"What a nice snack for the trip home," said the woman. Her voice filled the room with an eerie hiss._

_The woman lunged for Derek, hissing and baring two-inch long fangs that were aimed directly for his throat._

Derek woke up with a start. His body was covered in sweat despite how cold he felt. His breaths came out in ragged gasps as he tried to calm his racing heart.

"Still having dreams I see?"

Derek quickly pulled out his wand and aimed it at the voice.

"Now, now. Is that anyway to treat your sister?"

Derek's vision focused and he could see the little girl who looked no older than twelve standing at the foot of his bed. She had black hair that flowed to her shoulders, and a light red dress on that look much too old for her.

"I should have known, I always get nightmares when you're around."

The girl giggled and walked over to the side of the bed, eyes never leaving Derek's.

"What do you want Clarissa? Why can't you just leave me in peace?"

"Oh, come now. You know why I'm here. Mother wants me to check in on you. Make sure you're still alive and what not."

"Well, as you can see, I am. So leave."

The girl giggled once more. It sent shivers down Derek's spine. "Not for much longer if you keep up this hunt. Mother wants you to stop meddling in London. Despite what you think, she still cares about you. So she sent me here to tell you to leave London."

"You know I can't do that."

The girl sighed, almost sounding human for once. "Oh, big brother, I know. But I can't deny mother's wishes, unlike you. Just do us both a favor, and don't get yourself killed." The girl walked over the window and opened it. Before she left, she turned to Derek. "I'll see you later big brother."

"Don't threaten me."

The girl giggled one more and then jumped out of the window. Derek lied back down and stared at the ceiling. No way was he getting anymore sleep after that horrid dream and that midnight guest.

Staring up at the ceiling, he was frustrated. Hunts had never been a problem for him. Why was this one so hard? And why hadn't he heard from the Authority?

"I guess I have no other choice."

He stood up from his bed and headed towards the door. He reached for the handle but then hesitated before turning around and heading for the bed again, where he pulled the box out from under it. He opened the box and lifted the crossbow gun from it, stowing it away inside his coat pocket.

"Just in case."

The waxing moon hung in the sky, half full. Below it, in an alley, stood five males, looking down on a charred body.

"Sherlock, who are these people? I'm breaking the rules for you; I can't have you bringing random people -"

"Lestrade, I thank you for your concern, but I need all three of them. Mycroft has undoubtedly told you what Phin can do, you already know John, and Albus is my apprentice."

The detective proceeded to ignore the baffled Detective Inspector and crouched beside the body. "John."

"Male, bulky, probably late twenties...died from this wound," the doctor pointed at a strange seared wound right above the heart where something had shot him, "and then was burnt."

Sherlock nodded. "Phin."

Phin crouched near the body, drinking scents in at Sherlock's word. He caught the blood, the burning, the fear, the man's unique, wolf-like smell...

But there was something delicate, piercing...

Fatal.

Albus was mentally taking notes, listening to the men talk while also studying the body (and trying to not gag on the smell of burnt flesh - he had thought it would smell like cooked meat, but it didn't and it churned his stomach). Something shiny caught his eye - _Glitter? Who the bloody hell has glitter at a crime scene?_ - and he peered around Mr. Holmes to see it better.

His throat tightened slightly, and he said quietly, "There's liquid silver on the ground..."

"Shit..." Phin hissed and stood up quickly, stepping back to look at it from a safer distance.

Gregory stared at Sherlock. Alright, so this Phin bloke was a werewolf - he was still having trouble coming to terms with such a concept as werewolves and wizards - but Sherlock had _an apprentice?_

Surely it was some strange joke.

But no, the little bugger was actually paying avid attention, and then pointed out the liquid silver.

"Liquid sil-?" He looked down by his feet and stepped back, staring at the drops of silvery liquid. "How...? What?"

"He was a wolf. Someone burned him out with silver. He was shot with something, and the poisons killed him."

He shuddered. No matter this man's crime, he felt for him.

_What a way to die..._

The detective hummed quietly. "The legends must come from somewhere..." he murmured to no one in particular.

He stood. "Take him to Bart's. I will need to examine him in detail in better lighting. Try to find out who he is and text me."

He nodded to Lestrade and set off.

John turned to follow, but hesitated when he caught sight of Phin. "Are you okay?" He worried about his new flatmate's reaction to the silver.

Phin glanced briefly over at John, forcing his muscles to unclench.

"Yeah... I'm fine..."

He felt his new phone vibrate in his pocket and he stepped away. He opened up Albus' text message and his brow furrowed.

John eyed Phin but then sighed. "Come on. Let's go home."

He turned and started walking, but then looked around. "Where's Albus?"

He needed, wanted, more information. There was someone shooting werewolves in London. With silver. _Liquid_ silver.

The twelve year old needed more information about the werewolves and who this person might be. And he knew where to get it.

He texted Phin a quick message, even as he slipped away from the crime scene to a darker, unoccupied alley.

He sent the text, pulled out his wand, and prepared to apparate.

Just as he turned on the spot and right before he was squeezed through time and space, he caught a glimpse of a large wolf snarling at him. And then he was gone.

Albus landed in Potter Manor with a soft crack, his heart pounding. He stood still for a moment, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Then he began frantically checking himself over, hoping he hadn't splinched anything off.

Hair, lips, nose, eyes, eyebrows, teeth, tongue, arms, fingers, legs, toes...All good.

But then whose finger was on the floor?

Another wave of panic and fear and relief washed over the twelve year old as he stumbled away from the bloody appendage and tripped backwards. His breath was heavy and loud in the dark, sleeping manor.

He had been attacked by a werewolf, and it was only out of sheer luck that he had survived. It was out of pure, coincidental, _perfect_ timing that the wolf hadn't reached him, that the wolf's finger was sucked through and cut off when the spell ended.

The boy's frame shook as he rolled onto all fours and vomited.

When he was done, his trembling hand flicked his pale wand and cleared away the mess on the floor. He turned back to the finger - human, now that it was detached from the wolf's body - and cast a cooling charm on it. He summoned plastic wrap and tupperware from the kitchens, wrapping and storing the finger.

He shrunk it, slipped it into his pocket, and returned to his task at hand: sneaking into his father's study.

It was midnight on a weekend; it was unlikely Harry Potter, Head Auror who spent many, many hours at the Ministry of Magic and doing wizard police things (Albus didn't really know what his father actually did, and he couldn't be arsed to ask) that he often went to bed early on the weekends so as to catch up on missed sleep would be awake and patrolling his study.

Luckily, the Head Auror also thought his children would never be interested in all the paperwork and shite that came with being an Auror, so he also never locked his study.

When Albus reached the room, it was just as he had expected: empty and unlocked.

He rushed over to the desk, and when he couldn't immediately find the files and papers he wanted, the boy cast a handy spell an older Slytherin had taught him that helped him find key words in the text.

Soon he had about fifty files with the words "werewolf", "murder", "homicide", "hired hitman", and/or "London" in them. He narrowed the field down by dating them, not going farther back than six months. The pile shrank to about twenty files. A quick scan through each gave him four files on actual werewolves, one comprehensive file on all the attacks, and a file on an American named Derek or something.

He copied the files and charmed them to be self-updating before shrinking them and stuffing them in his pocket.

A spell returned the study to how it was a few minutes ago, and then Albus was sneaking out and down the hall.

"And where do you think _you're_ going?"

"He's not going to stop. You know how stubborn he is."

Clarissa stood in a dark room facing a women sitting in a stone chair. "Then you must help him. He doesn't know how serious the situation is getting. Even the covenant doesn't want us going to London."

"Of course, mother. But what can I do, he won't take my help."

"Then don't let him know your there. Your good at being silent Clarissa. I know you can do it."

"I will help him however I can."

"If it gets too dangerous, just leave Clarissa. I can't lose both my children."

Clarissa giggled. "Mother, dangerous is my middle name. But I understand. I will do what I can."

Phin shook his head and then gently moved John with him as he went.

"He's... gone to sort something out at home. He'll be back. The little bugger can apparate."

Phin's nosed curled just slightly. His eyes darted around the crowd before him. But he turned away, still suspicious, and brought his lovers closer to him.

_Huh. Thought I'd smelled something..._

Albus whirled around, a trademark Slytherin sneer stealing over his lips.

"None of your business, prat. Go back to bed."

James Sirius Potter sneered down at his little brother. Like the auburn tint to his hair, the freckles dusting his face, and the blue eyes, he had also inherited the Weasley tall gene from their mother. Even at the young age of fourteen, Albus' petite frame - purely a Potter gene - only reached to James' sternum.

"I'll tell Dad."

Albus rolled his eyes. "Ooh, so scary James. Do you still run sniveling to Mummy and Daddy's bed when your dreams are of anything less than being pampered?"

"What? No!" Albus had to bite back a laugh; he was fairly certain the only thing James caught was running to Mum and Dad.

"Right. Anyways, bugger off. I'm leaving."

"No you're not. I want to know why you were in Dad's study."

"Is there a problem with me going in there? It's not locked. He didn't tell us not to go in there."

"Well I'm telling you now."

Both boys froze and turned to look at their father and mother.

"James," Ginny said, "Go back to bed."

The boy gave a dark smirk to Albus, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, "Someone's gonna get it..."

Ginny then turned to her second son, face concerned and worried. "Albus, sweetie, where have you been?"

Albus scowled and looked away. "With friends."

"Who, luv?"

"Garrett. Phin. A few people you don't know."

"Alright, well, why don't you go lie d-"

"No, Mum." Albus took a deep breath. "I...I told them I'd be right back. They'll get worried if I don't go back to the flat."

"Albus Severus Potter, you will do as your mother says."

"Suck off, tosser!" the boy snarled. "I bloody fucking hate you. Don't talk to me!"

Harry took a threatening step towards his son, ignoring his wife trying to calm him. "You will not speak to me like that, young man!"

"You can suck my pixie dick, you chubby coon! You don't like me, you don't want me near you, so fuck off! I will happily move in with Prongs and - fuck it. I'm _going_ to move in with Prongs. You can kiss my poofter arse."

Harry took another step, looking incredibly menacing. Albus, despite his bravado, wasn't feeling very sure of himself and took a step back, trying to keep the four or five meters between them the same.

It was the wrong move, of course, to make in the face of a very angry lion.

Albus turned tail and ran, the sudden fear of being beaten or something by his own father making tears prick at the back of his eyes. He jumped down the stairs three at a time, almost tumbling down. Then he was bolting into the Floo and apparition room.

He disapparated just as his father came into the room.

In a small, cozy cottage by the sea, the crack of apparition was soft. Albus, panting, ran his hand over his face. Then he worked his way deeper into the house, coming to the fire lit library.

A figure sat in one of the comfortable armchairs before the flames with a large tome in his lap, sitting still. Albus stepped forward tentatively, hoping the man wasn't asleep - or if he was that the boy wouldn't wake him.

"Uhh...Moony?" he whispered.

Remus was absorbed thoroughly in his book. It was fascinating, really, the history of herbology and its cultural influences on different civilizations and how it had affected-

Oh, hang on. There was someone behind him.

Remus shut his book, sighed, and pushed his glasses further up his nose.

"What on earth is it, Pron-"

But his grey eyes widened slightly.

"Albus? What are you doing here?"

Albus went and climbed into Moony's lap, cuddling the man. Then he began his story about Phin, Sherlock, John, 221B Baker Street, rampaging werewolves, an angry father, gratuitous homosexual relations, and a new apprenticeship.

"...so I want to come live with you guys, if that's okay. And...would you guys mind warding two two one bee?"

_Oh, Christ, Phin... What have you gotten yourself into?_

Watching his reckless grandson, as much as they clashed, get into most probably life-threatening trouble, upset him in any circumstance. But getting tangled in other werewolves? Most definitely a bad idea.

He chose to wince and ignore the gay threesome bit.

For now, Albus was currently homeless.

"Of course, Al. You can stay. No problem whatsoever." He gave Albus a kind smile, his grey eyes more like warm silver than harsh metal. He lifted the boy gently to the ground and closed his book softly.

"Let's let James know you're here, eh?"

Albus grinned and took off, finding his way to his grandfather by sound.

Which wasn't incredibly hard to do.

"WAAAAUUUUGH!"

Laughter ensued, and two sixty year old wizards were rolling on the floor, though they look like they were no more than perhaps forty eight.

One was James Potter, Head of the House of Potter, and the other was Sirius Black, Head of the House of Black. There were some other titles thrown in there, but you'd never know by looking at them

James giggled, picking himself off the floor of the study, wiping tears from his face from under his glasses. He giggled again, Sirius' continued laughter spurring him on once more.

"Prongs!"

James turned and his face immediately lit up as he crouched to catch his grandson. He was bowled over by the boy's momentum, but he laughed and said, "Bambi! What's up with our favorite little Slytherin?"

Sirius grinned and looked at Remus. The man's face showed worry though and his smiled slipped away a little. "What's up, Moony?"

Remus frowned and adjusted his glasses.

"I think there may be a situation in London. With my grandson." He gave them both a look. "Albus has wisely suggested wards."

"Yeah," he said, sprawled on top of his grandfather. "I just wanted to put wards up around his new flat. He's...well, he's like usual."

He clambered up and went to the fireplace. "The address is two two one bee Baker Street, London. Watch out for the low fireplace."

He grabbed the powder, resisting the urge to snort some, and threw it in the fire. He called out the address and stepped in, whirling away to Baker Street.

On the other side, he tumbled out, having tripped on the little mini fence meant to keep embers in. He landed on the floor with a little, "oof!"

James blinked, but one look at Sirius had them both grinning devilishly. They rushed over and went through the Floo system, Sirius first.

James called out to Remus. "Come on, Moony! An _adventure!_" Then he disappeared into a burst of green flames.

Remus sighed and stepped into the fireplace.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

Sherlock was quietly playing his violin by softly plucking the strings. He was nestled into one corner of the couch, John laying beside him with his head in the detective's lap.

They were waiting to hear from Albus. Sherlock, thought he would never admit it aloud, was vaguely concerned. John's eyebrows seemed to be permanently stuck in a worried tilt.

_And yet, there was something intolerable about the way they conducted themselves._

_And yet, there was something intolerable about the way they conducted themselves._

_And yet, there was something intolerable about the way they conducted themselves._

Phin dropped the book with a thud to the floor and groaned. Once you'd been reading the same sentence over and over, it was time to give up.

He uncurled his long legs from the pouch of Sherlock's armchair and sighed.

Ugh. This was bloody insanity. This was completely-

_WHOOSH._

Oh, bugger...

Phin glanced over at the fireplace automatically and watched with widened eyes as four figures came zooming out.

"Gr... _grandad?"_

Once the swirling flames ceased, Remus brushed ash from his coat and glanced around until his eyes rested on Phin.

"Ah. Hello, Phineas."

He gave the two men on the couch a glance and approached them, extending a hand and ignoring James and Sirius.

"Hello. My name is Remus Lupin. I am Phineas' grandfather. You have a lovely flat." He gave them a warm smile.

The two men looked up at the older man before them. John sat up quickly and stood, shaking Remus' hand. "John Watson."

Sherlock, still sitting, blinked. "Sherlock Holmes."

John didn't need to look to see that Sherlock was figuring out the three newcomers' lives. He glanced at the man and said, "Stop it."

The detective rolled his eyes, deciding to sulk and go back to plucking the violin's strings.

John smiled at Remus, and the darker haired men. "And you two are..."

"This is my Granpa James and my Uncle Sirius. But I call them Prongs and Padfoot, and I call Remy Moony. They went to school together." The little boy grinned when Prongs ruffled his hair. "And they call me Bambi."

The elder Potter pushed his glasses up his nose, picking his grandson up and cuddling him. "Well, what else would we call you? You're my little fawn. You should come over and play with us sometime. It's been ages since you ran with Paddy and me!"

"I know, Prongs, I've just been...well, not busy - except for the past day or two. So I'll come by soon! I miss being able to run faster."

"Well, how about you and me go get started on the wards. I can teach ya some things." James carried Albus out of the living room and down to the ground floor, chatting happily with his grandson.

Sirius grinned, then turned to Sherlock and John. "I'm Phin's other grandfather. And we're here to put some wards around your place. Bambi thinks you need them."

Phin snorted.

"How amateur I seem now. 'We're here to ward your flat...' Welcome, everyone."

John blinked. "Wards?"

"I assume they mean magical barriers around the flat."

Sirius nodded. "Pretty much."

Phin stood up to shake Remus' hand.

The gesture seemed forced. Possibly a bit awkward. Phin gave a weak attempt at a warm smile.

Remus shook Phin's hand, his face grim.

Even those with a human sense of smell could detect the tension between them.

For a few seconds, they were both silent. Then Remus spoke up.

"Albus has updated me on the situation here..."

Phin nodded. "Yeah... glad you're here. Small comfort in numbers, eh?"

He gave the man another half-hearted smile, and Remus understood what unspoken exchange was passing between them.

He watched Phin grin madly and greet his other grandfather.

"Wotcher, Sirius."

Sirius grabbed his grandson and gave him a manly hug before forcing the young man down and rubbing his knuckles on his head, barking out his laughter. "Wotcher, Phin! Now, come on, tell me what's going on!"

Phin grinned widely at him and flattened his rumpled hair with his hand.

"Oh, you know. Running around London, fucking my flatmates, smoking myself into a trace. The usual."

He tapped an unlit fag rhythmically on the arm of the chair he was sitting in, giving his granddad a tiny smirk.

"Shagging your flatmates, eh? I still think I shagged more people at school than you. Before I dated your grandmother, that is. Oh, wonderful, wonderful times..."

Remus watched the exchange between Sirius and Phin, feeling a tiny pang in his stomach.

If it were ever possible to have that kind of relationship with his grandson...

Sherlock studied Remus once more, but was distracted when Albus came running up to him.

"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Ho-"

"Sherlock."

Albus blinked. "Err...Sherlock, I snitched some files from my Dad's study for you. They're copies. I charmed them to update whenever the originals get updated." He pulled the shrunken files from his pocket and returned them to their original sizes with a wave of his wand and handed them to his mentor.

Then he fished in his pocket again and pulled out the tupperware with the finger in it. "Also...I, er," he took a deep breath and said as fast as he could, "I was attacked when I left. I apparated - which is, in science-y, muggle terms, sorta pinching two spots on the world together and punching a hole through so you can travel through space and time in an instant - and right as I apparated away, a werewolf attacked me. Their finger went through and got cut off when the spell ended. So I saved it for you to look at."

Sherlock ignored the bit of fear on Albus' behalf in his stomach and focused on examining the finger.

With a side glance at the other men in the room, Albus scurried away, hoping to avoid the worst of the freak out. He sorta forgot to tell Moony that bit...

"WHAT?" Sirius' head whipped to look at Albus as the boy scampered away, face a mix of awe, relief, and panic.

Phin blinked.

_What an incredible stroke of luck..._

It was frightening to think that Albus could possibly have escaped death by so fine a hair. He shivered a bit, his stomach clenching at the thought of Albus, as dead as that girl...

He pushed the thought away as his grandfather leapt to his feet to follow the twelve-year-old.

_Oh, come on!_

"WHAT."

In mere seconds, Remus had cut Albus off. His face was a frightening mask of calm.

"You were _attacked?"_

"Err..."

John, ever the doctor, rushed over to Albus and knelt checking him over. "Are you alright?"

Suddenly Albus was facing Dr. Wa- _John_. He was facing John, and he nodded frantically. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I mean, I threw up at ho- Potter Manor...when I saw the finger. I think...well, I've been reading Mr. H- Sherlock's case files, and I think the adrenaline and relief was too much for my body and it expelled what was in my stomach. But yeah, no, they didn't touch me. I just...I didn't want you to worry, Moony!" Now he looked back up at the older werewolf. "I'm sorry."

James came back up the stairs to start warding the first floor. "Hey, Pads, Moony, you should probably check over the wards and make sure they're solid." He blinked at the sight of John turning his grandson's face away from Remus to check his face. "What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing Prongs. Just that Bambi was almost werewolf chow. If he hadn't apparated away he'd be shredded in some back alley. Really, Bambi!"

James gaped at Sirius then at Albus. "What were you doing near a werewolf?" Then he blinked in confusion. "But...it's a half-moon..."

Phin gave James a weak smile. He turned back to Remus and shook his shoulder.

"Come off it Moony. The last thing we need is anyone changing here. Al's fine now. Give him space."

He pushed his grandfather out of the way gently and knelt down beside Albus and John, knowing that too much excitement was the last thing the boy needed after that.

Phin's eyes were surprisingly heartfelt as he whispered "You okay?" to his smaller friend.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, Phin. I'm just trying not to think about it. If I don't really think about it and just keep my clinical filters up, it's like watching crime shows on the telly. But better."

Remus rubbed his temples.

What was going on? He'd felt something for a moment there, some unchecked rage that threatened to boil over.

He'd almost felt the wolf take control.

He forced himself to calm down, promising himself that he wouldn't let it happen.

Remus watched Phin and Albus exchange words for a moment and then confronted the... what was it Albus had said? Consulting detective?

He gave Sherlock a tired smile.

"I'm sorry, but do you have anything I could drink? Tea, perhaps? Hot chocolate?"

Maybe it was a little rude, but he needed to calm himself down.

Sherlock's eyes flicked up before returning to the finger, examining the state of the cuticles and nail. "Help yourself."

"Oh God, no. Sherlock, not everyone is me and can handle opening the fridge to find a severed head." John stood and looked at Remus. "We only have tea, if that's okay." When Remus didn't answer, John shrugged and went into the kitchen, setting about boiling water.

Albus' head snapped to John, following the man with his wide eyes. "A severed head in the fridge? Really? Can I see?" He scampered into the kitchen, emitting a loud, "Whoa, cool!"

James waved a hand. "Wait, back up. Alright, first I want to know why there's a severed head in the fridge -"

"This time I'm measuring the rate at which the hair will continue to grow when kept chilled."

"Wha...nevermind. Second, what the hell is going on with the werewolves changing? I mean, that one time..." James carefully stopped himself from saying more or looking at Remus. "Anyways, you know more than we do, so what the bloody hell is going on?" His hazel eyes glanced back and forth between John, Albus, Phin, and Sherlock.

Sirius nodded. "I want in."

Phin gave the older men a frown.

"Sirius, I don't know about that...no... actually, I think you're both perfect for this. You know... if the old limbs are up for it..." He gave Sirius and James a big, sly grin.

Giving his grandfather a hesitant look, Phin spoke up.

"And... we could really use your help too, Remus..."

Remus leaned against the sitting room wall, observing the conversation.

"Of course. It is always my concern when strange things are happening to werewolves." He gave Albus a sidelong glance. "I am concerned, however, for some members of this party..."

Sherlock on the other hand placed the finger back into the tupperware and picked up the files. He browsed through the files of the werewolves. Before Albus, James, or Sirius could quarrel with Remus or Phin, the detective spoke up.

"You're a werewolf." He held the files out to Remus. "Do you know any of them?"

Sirius looked awed and wary. "How...how did you know?"

Sherlock turned to the file on all the attacks, muggle and wizarding. "He and Phin share a similar, though much more pleasant, scent with the werewolf that kidnapped Phin. There is also a very animalistic tension between him and Phin. You and James have skirted delicately around the subject, and hinted that he has changed outside of the full moon. However, while Phin is incredibly comfortable with who he is, Remus is not. He does not like being a werewolf and views himself as a monster."

The man stopped reading the file to turn his cat-like blue eyes up to Remus. "Monsters do not exist, Remus. And if they did, a man like you would never be one. So put such inane and silly thoughts out of your head."

Then he turned back to absorbing the information before him.

John came back into the living room with the tea and a half-apologetic, half-exasperated smile for the older werewolf. "He's like that all the time. You get used to not having many secrets around him." He pushed the cup into Remus' hands. "If you need more sugar or cream, tell me."

Albus came back in and turned his grinning face up to Prongs. "Isn't it amazing what he does? He's taking me on as an apprentice."

"Is that so?" James ruffled Albus' hair. "But...so there have been other werewolves changing?"

His grandson nodded. "Dad's been on the case for a while. There have been accidental changes when the person is emotionally strained, but there's a pack here that has learned to change on command and has been attacking muggles and wizards."

Sirius whistled. "Merlin's left nut, that's a scary thought." He turned to Phin. "Have you changed on accident?"

Phin shook his head at Sirius, his brow furrowing.

"No, I haven't, but..." he shared a slightly worried look with Albus. "I came very close once."

He glanced over at his other granddad, now having received the Sherlock treatment.

He wondered how well he would take it.

Remus accepted the cup from John without a word. He gave the man a small smile, thinking.

_Monsters do not exist, Remus. And if they did, a man like you would never be one._

It was rather a shock to hear your current situation spurted back at you from an uninformed stranger. He was startled, to say the least, by the way he appeared to live his life. Shamed, even.

He watched Phin converse with Sirius. Could it really be that easy? To just _accept_ the constant pain and suffering and unknown and get on with life?

_Maybe, for the lives at stake, I'm going to have to try..._

Sherlock set aside the file; he already knew most of the information.

He picked up the file on Derek Argent. About ten seconds later, he was throwing the file down and standing. He threw his coat on and while tying his scarf around his neck, he said, "John, Albus, Phin. I have a lead. Others...come if you can help."

And then, with John tugging his coat on while following, he was out and down the stairs.

The twelve year old scrambled after the two, grinning like a loon.

James and Sirius threw each other a look, and then looked at Remus.

With matching grins, the two pranksters raced each other out of the flat, shouting and pushing each other.

Phin shook his head in disbelief and quickly pulled on his coat and slung his bag across his shoulder.

Blimey, Sherlock worked fast.

He followed the large group out the door, but hung back when he saw his grandfather fall behind. He put a hand on his arm, noting how deep in thought the man was.

"Alright, Remus?"

Remus jumped slightly at the touch of the dark-haired boy. He looked at his grandson and smiled grimly.

"Just thinking. I cannot fathom the danger of our situation."

Phin nodded, looking down.

"I know... but, hey. Sherlock says he has a lead, so that's a good thing."

Remus watched the boy smile, pat him on the arm again, and trot off to talk to Sherlock.

_Hmm..._

He lengthened his stride to keep pace with the group.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

As the party arrived at the hotel, Sherlock turned to the others and told them to stay hidden out in the darkness. Then he strode towards the lease office, his usual stance dropping into a cat-like swagger as he went inside and approached the young man working the front desk.

Despite his innate jealousy of seeing Sherlock flirt spectacularly with the (obviously, even to him) gay young man, he couldn't help licking his suddenly dry lips at the seductive look that stole over his detective's features.

With a wink, Sherlock left the poor boy a gibbering, blushing mess as he sauntered back to the group, smirk so big and smug John thought his ego might crush them all.

As he stepped into the shadows that surrounded the party of males, his gloved hand snaked out of his pocket, holding the extra key to one of the hotel rooms.

John grinned, and they led their friends around through the shadows to the motel room of Derek Argent.

Albus was having difficulties picking his jaw up from the ground. He would definitely need to learn _those_ sorts of tricks from his mentor.

As they unlocked the door to the room, John warned all not wearing gloves to absolutely _not_ touch _anything_. With a flick from three wands, almost in unison, Albus, Prongs, and Paddy were wearing gloves transfigured from various pieces of lint.

Albus nearly giggled at the bewildered look John gave them.

Sirius pulled his new gloves on, looking around.

No one was there, and the room seemed bare. "What's here?"

The two pranksters watched as Sherlock opened the bathroom and scanned it quickly before shutting it again.

"Derek Argent. American. Six feet tall, black hair, blue eyes. Bulky build. America's poster boy. Part of an organization. Suspected of hunting some of the werewolves. Known for his skills in hunting down renegade werewolves. I would assume vampires as well, possibly also other magical beings viewed as threats. Wizard."

Phin's stomach fell as a word very close to him was dropped in the conversation.

_Vampires..._

He wondered how Bittie's situation was in Manhattan. He had forgotten to ask her.

If this bloke knew anything about her... If he got it in his mind to go after her...

Phin's brows furrowed. He didn't know how or why the man could ever find out...

He just knew he'd wring the bloke's neck if he ever decided to go after her.

Sherlock had checked the closet and the drawers, quickly opened a duffle bag, viewed its contents, and resealed it as it was.

And then he flipped the duvet up, exposing the bed's underbelly. His long arms disappeared under the furniture and then pulled out various cases.

Weapons cases.

James, gloves securely on, unlatched and opened one. His adam's apple bobbed nervously as he swallowed. The bullets in the case looked sickeningly familiar. "I...I think it's silver."

He really wanted to get Remus and Phin out of the room and keep them away from this Derek guy. Sirius' dark blue eyes caught his own, and they knew they felt the same.

_Oh. Silver._

Phin shared a look with Remus. This was bad.

_Oh no. Oh no. Oh no._

Automatically, Remus reached out and grasped Phin's coat sleeve and pulled him farther away from the bullets. He saw the young man register surprise.

"Remus, wh-"

But Remus moved forward to inspect the bullet James was looking at.

Horrible, poisonous, condensed death. In little pretty packages. He shivered.

"Yes, James. That's silver."

The smell was sharp, like ice and orchids. He'd have known it anywhere.

Sherlock reached over and slammed the lid shut, almost catching James' fingers.

He'd never admit it, but it made him uneasy to know his lover's personal brand of deadly poison was anywhere near him.

The detective quickly packed everything away, saved the room's phone number into his mobile, and ushered everyone out.

He returned to the front desk, full flirt back on.

John knew Sherlock was just sealing a deal, making sure the young man wouldn't tell anyone that Sherlock was there, but that didn't stop the growl that rumbled in his chest when Sherlock handed the boy a slip of paper and kissed him soundly.

When Sherlock came back, he was immediately yanked down into a heated, possessive kiss by his doctor. When John broke the contact, he softly snarled, "_Mine._"

"Mmm, yours, John. And Phin's. But don't worry. It was very much worth it."

"Oh?"

"Yes. He believes that tomorrow he will be able to call Mycroft Holmes for a date."

John's anger disappated with a giggle, Sherlock's rare and true smile shining through for a moment.

Phin snorted at John's outburst and walked with his lovers the rest of the way to the flat.

No matter how much silver he encountered on this crazy, mad ride...

He was always going to feel safer standing next to these two.

Remus joined James and Sirius and watched Phin walk ahead with the detective and the doctor.

Maybe he didn't understand it, but he could see how happy it made Phin. Maybe...

Maybe he should try to do a better job of understanding his grandson.

John snorted softly, snuggling closer to the incredibly warm chest in front of him. Another warm body, but colder than the one in front of him, curled tighter around him from behind.

The ex-soldier stretched between his dark-haired lovers, yawning.

It had been four days since Phin was kidnapped. They had come home and with a brilliant bit of magic, 221B suddenly had five more bedrooms and an enlarged living room and kitchen.

Mrs. Hudson had been startled, but with a threat to Sherlock to raise rent, she easily just dismissed it, muttering about strange young men.

The last few days were quiet; no werewolf attacks, no word on the Derek guy, and life was fairly peaceful at 221B. John and Sherlock got on well with Remus, having found another bright mind, and John was often highly amused by Phin and Garrett's squabbling, and James and Sirius raucous hilarity. And the doctor couldn't help but smile whenever he watched Albus interact with the three older men.

And Sherlock was in deduction heaven. He spent many hours sitting quietly, playing his violin softly, and observing the family's dynamics.

Opening his eyes fully, John took in the sleeping face of Phineas Remus Black. Gentle fingers traced the cheekbones and nose. The doctor startled slightly when a larger, paler hand joined his and swept Phin's unruly curls from his forehead.

Sherlock's sleep-husky baritone murmured, stylistic lips brushing against the shell of John's ears, "He has freckles."

John took a closer look and blinked in surprise, before a smile overtook his face. It was true; there were very faint, almost unnoticeable freckles dusting the werewolf's cheeks and nose.

The rumble of Sherlock's voice caught his attention, seeming impossibly deep. "He used to spend a lot of time outside as a child, most likely playing. He still likes to be outside due to his claustrophobia, but by the state of his freckles, he spends the time hidden in the shade of trees. Reading, probably."

John nodded, studying Phin's face some more.

Phin was dreaming in songs.

It wasn't often that his dreams were so direct and obvious, but sometimes, the dregs of an overactive imagination manifested themselves in other ways.

The piano was the perfect instrument. He had always believed that. Notes laid out like a map, and even color-coded keys lent their simplicity to anyone with enough patience to sit down and let it speak for itself. Anyone.

He would never have admitted it, even to Bittie, but he loved it so much he could have cried.

Piano lessons from the smelly, screechy old woman down the street were hell. She smelled. He only played scales. He was beyond that, somewhere else. She made him feel like he was beneath her.

But piano lessons from his father...

"Sit down, Phineas. There's a good lad! Now, remember what we played yesterday? Good- you've got it! Now listen, one finger moved _here..._"

_Plink._

"And you've got yourself a seventh chord. Now, put this chord at the end of this phrase..."

It didn't even make him feel sick to sit next to his father and play. It made the walls vanish. His father smelled good. Like honey, cologne, work, earth, metal...

And he practiced when his father was done. Not when the ugly lady told him to. He never paid attention to her. She gave up on him. He forgot about her and continued playing. His father's smile grew each time he learned a new song. His eyebrows raised each time he got better. His smirk formed when Phin finally surpassed him.

"Well now, Mozart. Shove off. Give the poor, damned thing a break. Haven't heard the birds in weeks..."

His dream was simple; his fingers on the keys. Two chords, over and over. Strange and rhythmic. He didn't even have names for what they were. One dark and minor, oddly tinny, grating. The other soft and major. Hesitant, but sure. They repeated endlessly.

So where was the third one?

He felt like he had almost found it, just barely had its form on the tips of his fingers, when he felt hands on his face.

His eyes cracked open blearily and he saw their faces. One dark and minor, one soft and major.

Oh.

The third one slipped into his head, like it had always been there. It was somewhere halfway, hovering in a dreamy way between the two.

He knew their names now.

He smiled at them.

John grinned, and the strange thought _today is honey_ drifted through his mind.

"Morning, luv."

Phin smiled and stretched, his back curling and his half-lidded eyes taking them in.

"Morning."

He ran a hand through his tousled hair and watched the early morning sunlight through the windows. It really was going to be a beautiful day...

How unlike London.

He slumped back down and lay there, looking at them.

Just looking.

Sherlock nuzzled the back of John's neck, nipping it lightly and watching Phin watch them. The light scrape of his teeth caused John to giggle softly, and suddenly Sherlock wondered something.

His spidery hand smoothed over Phin's hair and down his face. It slowed at his neck but continued over his shoulder and down his chest to the bottom of his ribs.

The only warning Phin had was a tiny, mischievous smirk, and then his fingers were pressing into his ribs just at the right angle and degree, dancing over the young man's side and tickling him.

Phin let out a shrieking sound that could really only be described as: "YIIIIIPE!"

He scrambled himself away from Sherlock, flailing and tangling with sheets for a only brief second, and then slipped off the bed onto the floor with a soft THUD.

He lay, gasping on the Persian carpet, cheek pressed to the floor and limbs askew.

"Dont. Ever. Do that. "

John's face was a priceless picture of absolute surprise as he threw himself over to the edge to look at Phin.

There was a vague, soft sound from behind him that sounded suspiciously like _snrk_, and then John broke into giggles.

And then laughter.

And then Sherlock joined in, and the unfamiliar but incredibly pleasing sound of his unabashed baritone laughter spurred John on more.

In between laughs and breaths, John held his hands out to Phin, beckoning the youngest male back onto the bed and into the closet-cuddle-bear's arms.

Phineas Black did not _pout._

He didn't. Ever.

But he was damned if he wasn't making some sort of face at them, eyes narrowed, mouth crooked as he crawled back up onto the bed.

"You're tossers. Both of you. TOSSERS."

He pulled the sheet over his head.

"Hmmph."

The two older men continued to giggle, even as John wrapped his arms around the covered form of Phin and rolled the younger man over himself to lay in between the doctor and the detective.

Sherlock's deep, breathy giggles sounded on one side of the bundled up man, John's higher giggles on the other.

The detective gently peeled the cover from over Phin's head, pulling it down just below his nose.

He planted a few feather-soft kisses on the man's face and then moved to straddle the werewolf, staring down into his hazel eyes with his own blue ones, their usually icy colour warmed to a clear, glacial ocean shade.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, lips brushing against the tip of Phin's nose. He pressed their foreheads together, noses lined up. And simply stared into the werewolf's eyes for what seemed like a very very long time.

And then he said, "You have faint freckles. You show so much emotion without trying, but only I and perhaps John notices. You have endearingly messy curls. You smell of fags. Your nose crinkles when you think. Your smirks turn me on. You care so much for your family, even though you try to hide it. Your intellect is amazing. You intrigue me in ways I thought only John would ever be able to."

He paused, breaking eye contact only to blink. "I love it. I love the way you talk, the way you move. I love watching your fingers dance over the piano and your eyes close as you indulge yourself. I love how you have secret sweet smiles. I love your scent - fags, male, and something wild. I love that you're taller than myself. I love when you growl, I love when you hum. I love being able to catch snippets of your singing. I love watching you, even when you're simply sprawled on the couch, head tilted back and limbs splayed, staring at the ceiling. I love that you're something new. I love everything about you."

Still staring, blue into hazel, Sherlock pressed a light, chaste kiss to Phin's lips, murmuring, "I love _you_," against them and the corner of his eyes crinkling slightly as a true smile stole over his features.

Phin's throat was very dry. He was having trouble swallowing. His face felt very warm. His lips didn't mesh with Sherlock's like they normally would have.

His eyes were such a piercing blue. It was hard to focus on them, and yet they were clear as tinny sunlight on an English spring day and bloody hell what was wrong with him?

Nobody had ever done that before. Maybe Bittie. But the absolute brazen boldness of Sherlock's monologue stunned Phin into silence.

All he could do was look at him.

_I love you, too..._

Sherlock smiled. He drank in the sight of Phin's wide open face, pink dusting over his cheeks and nose. It even darkened his freckles a little bit.

He pressed kisses to the werewolf's forehead, temples, nose, cheekbones, eyelids, and lips. And then he pulled the cover down further and bit the man's neck, a little harshly, asserting himself as a dominant and then balanced it with the submissive gesture of resting his head on Phin's chest, listening to the quickened heartbeat while still staring up at the man's face.

John knew he had the _stupidest_ grin on his face but he couldn't bring himself to care. Instead he caught Phin's attention and said, "I don't have as many words as our resident genius has," he ignored the snort coming from Phin's chest area, "but I agree with him. And I love you as well."

His grin grew wider and the doctor wondered if his face would split in half if it grew any larger (his recently acquired inner Sherlock snarked that it was physically impossible for such an occurrence to happen). "And I love that blush of yours. You look...delightful."

A fleeting thought wondered if a mere seven days was long enough to fall in love with someone, but John, as Sherlock would say, deleted the thought. Seven days was plenty of time.

Phin finally managed to swallow as both of the men put their heads on his chest. He steadied his breath and then let it out in a whoosh.

He chose to ignore the comment about the blush. Much fuss would be made about it later, but he could handle that.

He didn't dare speak. But he sighed, a tiny smile playing at his lips.

His _I love you_ was unspoken, but that didn't make it any less heartfelt. He closed his eyes and smiled for real, resting in between them.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

The detective hummed, closing his eyes. He buried his nose into the covers that separated him from Phin's chest and breathed in, able to pick apart each other their scents.

And he also picked up the faint smell of sex.

Eyes now half-lidded, Sherlock looked up at Phin and mumbled something into the covers. He shifted, eyes closing again as he withheld a groan when his growing arousal brushed against the soft sheets on the bed.

Clarissa walked up the steps of 221B Baker street. She was carrying a small whimpering beagle, who had cuts and bruises all over his body.

"You're such a fucking idiot," she said to the dog.

When she reached the final step she place the dog down in front of the door and knocked three times.

"I wont be far away if you need me... again."

Phin smirked at Sherlock as he muttered something in a rumbling voice against his chest. He let his hand drift down the man's torso.

"Come again?"

His fingers traced little circles on the man's hips and his hand drifted closer and closer to-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Oh, bloody hell.

Within seconds, Phin had slipped into trousers and a lumpy grey sweater that may or may not have been his.

Sherlock scowled. His warm werewolf was gone. And he was _horny_.

John chuckled, twisting his fingers into Sherlock's hair. "He'll be back soon enough. But while he's gone..."

The doctor pushed his detective onto his back, revealing the half-hard cock he was sporting. Then John reached down to the floor and scooped up Sherlock's scarf and handed it to the taller man.

He licked a stripe up from the man's trimmed pubic hair to his sternum, tongue gliding over the faint trail of hair that led down his middle. With a grin, John nipped at Sherlock's right nipple and said, "Tie me up."

Phin trotted hurriedly down the stairs and stopped in the doorway next to Mrs. Hudson, who was giving a beagle on the stoop a curious look.

Phin raised an eyebrow.

"The fuck is _that?"_

Albus tottered down the stairs after Phin. His reruns of Monty Python had been interrupted by the knocking and following commotion from his friend, and so it was with a scowl that he approached the door.

Of course, his face lit up into a sympathetic, cooing, animal-loving face as he scooped up the beagle and rushed to the bathroom on the first floor, talking to the animal.

He'd heal this little puppy up.

Phin rolled his eyes as Albus scooped up the puppy and coddled it upstairs.

Of bloody course Albus was going to take it in. The last fucking thing this house needed was another furry-

Ugh. Whatever. He trudged back up the stairs and let himself into the room he shared with Sherlock and John.

"Nevermind. It was just some d-"

John was tied up.

John was _tied. Up._

Oh, _blimey_.

Phin smirked at them. Oooooh, this was going to be fun. He sloooowly pulled off his sweater -_John's_ sweater, as it turned out- and dropped it into a heap on the floor.

Sherlock smirked, leaning away from John. "Come here, Phin." He gestured to the space between John's spread legs.

Phin gave John an evil smirk and pulled off his trousers very, very slowly. He gave John a soft kiss and then gently bit the man's lip, pulling it with his teeth. He pushed his trousers down his thighs and wormed slowly out of them, leaving the jeans in a pile on the floor behind him.

He worked a small line of kisses from John's mouth to his neck, but pulled away and just let his breath tickle the man's collarbone.

This was going to be _fun._

Sherlock gave a low groan as he watched his younger lover toy with his older lover.

He moved over to the locker next to the bed and pulled out a bottle of lube.

Moving to sit behind Phin on the bed, he ghosted his hands over the man's body and rested his face on the werewolf's back, breathing in his scent.

His hands left the body in front of him to pick up the lube and slick up the fingers of his right hand.

Phin smiled, feeling Sherlock's sharp cheekbones pressed into his back. He let his kisses trail down John's torso, stopping only once to lay a hard bite on the man's hip, a tiny revenge for the one he had received a few days earlier.

His head floated above John's erection, letting his warm breath make him harder. He hoped it would make John beg.

John groaned, hips shifting upwards slightly. He squirmed slightly, but he didn't want to give Phin the satisfaction of breaking him so soon.

Sherlock hid his smirk in Phin's back before trailing soft kisses down to the base of the man's spine.

His slicked fingers dipped between Phin's legs and up, finding the man's anus and rubbing it lightly, massaging the muscles. His mouth found Phin's hip and sucked lightly as he slowly, carefully, pushed his index finger in to the first knuckle.

Phin's breath hitched sharply and his lip grazed the head of John's cock.

Well. _That_ had been unexpected. But never unwelcome. He could feel himself growing harder.

But he smiled just a tiny bit and pushed himself back gently against Sherlock's finger. He moaned loudly and moved his hips slowly. His fingers grasped the floor and his lips moved forward to kiss the tip of the doctor's cock.

The detective groaned, cock twitching at the thought of the warm, tight arse his finger was in around his cock instead.

He pushed the finger all the way in and then stilled, letting Phin get used to the strange feeling. He curled the finger downward, easily locating the semi-hard nub that was the man's prostate.

John, however, was arguing with himself.

_No, I will not beg. I will not beg. Even if I want it more than anything right now, I will not -_

"Oh bloody hell, please, _please_ Phin, please, Christ!"

Phin shuddered at Sherlock's touch and gave a long, desperate moan.

_Oh, more, mooore..._

He hovered over John's cock for a mere moment more, panting, before smiling and taking him into his mouth, slowly tightening his lips and letting his tongue circle the head.

John moaned, muscles tensing as he stopped himself from bucking. Gripping the pillow under his head, he gritted his teeth, not wanting to make too much noise so early.

Sherlock removed his mouth from Phin's hip, examining the reddish-purple mark he'd left. Then his free hand slid up the werewolf's thigh and around to grip the young man's cock while he pulled his index finger back and added his middle finger.

Phin's moans turned into whimpers. He rocked back hard onto Sherlock's fingers, groaning deeply, getting vocal.

"Aah... Sherlock... _harder..."_

He took John into his mouth again and moved his lips faster across the doctor's shaft. He pressed the head of the cock against the roof of his mouth with his tongue and gave a rumbling sigh.

Sherlock moved up until his lips were brushing Phin's ear and his head resting on John's inner thigh. His hot breath ghosted over Phin's ear and past his cheek to caress John's leg.

His deep voice rumbled from his chest as he asked, "If you want me to talk dirty, take as much of his cock as you can. If you don't, pull away." His icy, cat-like eyes glanced up at John, capturing the doctor's half-lidded gaze.

The detective's two fingers twisted slightly and curled, massaging Phin's prostate; he briefly wondered how hard he would have to press to make the man's body spasm uncontrollably.

John, now that his mouth had been opened, was unable to stop his vocal announcements of pleasure. Especially with the sight of his two favorite brunettes between his legs.

"Christ, Phin...oh Jesus bollocks..."

Phin's body lunged forwards and he gripped the floor hard. His moans sounded almost painful, but he obediently took John's cock deeper into his mouth and let his lips pull it, letting just the gentlest edge of his teeth grate against the sensitive head.

He wanted that dirty talk. He wanted Sherlock's fingers deeper inside him, and he wanted to watch John's face as he came.

He wanted _everything._ So much. All at once. He was getting so close. He let out another long groan.

"Ohh, you like that, don't you? The feel of John's cock in your mouth and my fingers up your arse." Sherlock nipped Phin's ear then soothed the pain with his tongue. "You want more, don't you? Such a greedy thing."

As the detective bit down on Phin's shoulder, he pressed a third finger into the man. The bite was harsh and Sherlock didn't stimulate Phin's prostate, making sure the werewolf didn't get too close to climax. The hand on the man's cock stopped moving, gripping the base tightly.

Sherlock looked up at John and groaned low and soft into Phin's ear. "Look at John. Look at what you're doing to him. He's tied up, just for you."

John's face was flushed, brown eyes half lidded and eyebrows furrowed upwards. He was watching as Phin's hot, wet mouth engulfed his cock and as Sherlock's lips moved; he couldn't make out any words, but he was certain the detective was talking loud enough for the doctor to hear the baritone rumblings.

He squirmed slightly and was instantly reminded that Sherlock's scarf - the one the man wore everywhere - was keeping his wrists tied together. His cock twitched in Phin's mouth, precum most definitely leaking from the tip, when he realized that he would see the scarf around Sherlock's neck until the damn thing was lost, tossed, or destroyed and he would never be able to not think of these moments with Phin and the detective.

Phin's moans turned into "Aaah..."s and his mouth worked John's cock rapidly. Sherlock's low, melodious words rumbled against his ear. If he could get any harder, he would have.

He gasped when Sherlock's hands froze on his cock and in his anus. He was panting against John now. He couldn't be brought to beg, but he moaned again.

"N-no..."

"Talking with your mouth full, Phin? I thought you had manners." Sherlock nuzzled Phin's hair and said, "Make him come. Make him come in your mouth and then I'll fuck you. I'll let you fuck him while I pound your hot arse."

John, having actually heard those words, couldn't help the way his breath hitched and his cock twitched.

Lord, did he love it when Sherlock talked dirty.

Phin moaned, his brows creasing and his eyelids fluttering shut. He wanted Sherlock inside him. Phin's hips rocked back towards Sherlock, needing more, and his lips squeezed tighter around John's cock. His whole head bobbed up and down faster and faster and his tongue rubbed harshly against the sensitive skin.

John groaned, legs trembling. "Phin, god, Christ, I'm so...hnng, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna, c- _ohh_."

The veteran arched slightly as he spilled himself into Phin's mouth, holding his breath.

Sherlock smirked, nose buried in the werewolf's locks. His fingers retreated from Phin's body and hurried the process of slicking his cock with lube.

He positioned himself behind Phin, the weeping head of his cock pressing against his stretched anus. He lubed both hands again and reached around his younger lover. As he slowly pushed into the tight heat, his left hand slowly pumped Phin's hard prick, the fingers of his right hand pushing into John's arse.

When he was fully buried inside of Phin, he paused, groaning. "You feel brilliant. So hot. So bloody tight."

Phin gave a sharp, desperate cry as the detective pressed inside of him. He swallowed John's warm cum with a moan, trembling at the sensations split between his anus and his prick. His sharp knuckles bent, gripping the floor for all it was worth.

"Sh-sherlock... aaannngh..."

Panting, he worked his way back up John's chest with his tongue. He kissed around the man's jaw and pushed his mouth against the veteran's, tongue jutting in decisively.

Sherlock pulled back slowly, hissing at the amazing pleasure it brought. Then he pushed back in, setting a slow, steady rhythm.

His fingers crooked upwards inside of John, making the blond gasp and twitch. The doctor's tongue met Phin's, sliding over it to run over the werewolf's upper lip.

Phin's moans reverberated through John's mouth and his hand worked its way into the man's hair, pulling him closer. He didn't want Sherlock to stop. He was nearing climax...

Sherlock could tell - of course he could tell - that Phin was close. And so he stopped.

"Not yet, love." He bit down on the werewolf's right shoulder, hard. There would be a nice bruise there in the shape of the detective's teeth.

John really _really_ wanted out of his restraints now, and yet he didn't.

_But he wanted to touch Phin so badly._

"Please..." he murmured into their heated kiss.

"Aannh... Sherlock..."

It was unbearable. Phin's lips detached themselves from John's and his head tilted back. He moaned again.

"Sherlock... please..."

Sherlock grinned. His fingers were removed from John's arse and he deftly untied his scarf from the blond's wrists.

Using his hips to push Phin's forward, he guided the werewolf into their shorter lover.

John moaned, his now free hands grasping at Phin's back and sliding to his hips and then up to tangle in his hair, bringing the young brunette in for a kiss.

The detective's hand, fingers splayed, slid up the werewolf's spine and then curled into a claw and dragged back down, leaving red trails in its wake.

He pulled back and snapped his hips forward, pushing Phin farther into John. "Fuck..._yes_," he hissed.

Phin bit his lip and stifled a noise of pleasure as he was pushed into John. His head slumped forward, his hair just brushing the skin of John's back before snapping up again to hiss as Sherlock dug welts into his skin.

Moaning, he rocked his hips forward deeper into John, savouring the taste of his mouth.

The ever present taste of fags tinged Phin's mouth, but John could also taste something sweet and almost musky, like the air of a forest, maybe.

He greedily drank in the flavours, breathing harshly through his nose as Sherlock picked up speed, rocking all three men together.

The detective groaned, forehead dipping to rest between Phin's shoulder blades. He was getting close, and he pressed his thumbs into the hollows of John's hips - one of the doctor's hotspots. The blond gave a garbled, soft yelp, instantly on the edge of climax.

Phin could feel the tensing up inside him. He knew he was close. His moans became shorter and desperate. He bit John's lip, hard, starting to tense up. He could feel every little hair on his back prickle as Sherlock's curls brushed his spine.

_Almost..._

Sherlock squeezed John's hips again, and the blond cried out, his orgasm hitting hard and fast that left white ropes of cum on his stomach.

Sherlock shuddered at the sound John made, thrusting hard into Phin a few more times before he pressed himself flush against the younger brunette's back, groaning into his shoulder while he spilled himself into his arse.

"Aah... ah,_fuck..."_

Phin gasped and dug his fingers into John's legs, moaning and shuddering as he emptied into the older man. He leaned, panting, over John, quickly going limp inside him. He kissed the man's neck gently and pulled out, his breath hitching at the sharp sensations.

Sherlock pulled out of the werewolf, kissing the man's back softly.

He settled beside his two lovers, taking deep breaths and closing his eyes, feeling incredibly content.

Phin's gasping breaths began to subside, and he curled up in between Sherlock and John, exhausted. He kissed John on the cheek and wrapped an arm around his waist.

Phin let his hands entangle in John's hair and his head tilt back to rest against against Sherlock's shoulders.

Some alarm was ringing in his brain. Something was telling him terrible things.

_Go. Go now. It's been too long. You're too involved. You have places to be. You can't stay here._

But Phin would be lying to himself if he said that he wasn't falling for them. Very, very hard.

After a minute, Sherlock gently turned Phin's face, letting his mouth cover the younger's for a slow and soft kiss.

When Derek awoke, he was in the arms of a boy. _Where am I? Who is this?_ That was when he realized he was in his animagus form. _Wait, this is the boy that was with the Phin werewolf. This might be the chance I need to find out if they'll help me._ His head swirled and he lost consciousness once again.

Albus entered the bathroom and set the dog on the floor as he ran the bath.

Once the tub was full, he picked the dog up and was about to set him in the water when he remembered he forgot to grab soap and hydrogen peroxide.

He tossed the beagle into the water and rushed out, shutting the door behind him.

_I'm wet_, thought Derek, as he opened his eyes to find that he was in a tub that was filled with a weird pinkish water. He looked around to find that he was in a bathroom. Everything looks so big. _Oh damn, I'm still a dog, aren't I?_ Derek attempted to get out of the tub but the combination of his short legs and the slipperiness of the tub kept him put. _For fuck's sake._

He changed back into his human form and stepped out of the tub. He was wet, naked, and standing in a stranger's bathroom. Not the best way to wake up from near death, but certainly not the worst.

Albus returned to the bathroom, towels, shampoo, alcohol, and hydrogen peroxide in hand - all of which had taken far too long to find, hidden in various parts of the flat.

He turned to look at the tub and found himself almost eye-level with a grown man's penis.

"Oh my god."

Everything in his hands clattered to the floor as he slapped his hands over his face. "Oh my god. Oh Merlin's left nut - _oh god wait no penis god what._"

Even the poor boy's hands were red. "Who _are_ you? Why are you naked in my flat? Where's the d- oh you are the dog oh Merlin please just put the towel on."

Garrett wandered down the hallway, coffee mug in hand, a frown smeared across his face.

"Uh... Albus? Is something wr-"

And there before he and the twelve-year-old, was a man.

A tall, _naked_ man.

A tall, naked, _pretty_ man.

Garrett's jaw and coffee mug dropped to the floor, simultaneously.

Albus turned around and peeked through his fingers, his bright green eye and bright red face making it look like Christmas had come early and taken residence up on the twelve year old's face.

"Garrett. This guy. Dog. _Was_ a dog. Animagus. Left on the porch. Hurt. Was gonna heal him. _Penis in my face oh god I need Lor and Ly._"

The poor boy ran away to his room to text his boyfriends about an imminent day out or in - it didn't really matter as long as he had the image of that man's penis burned from his brain by a good snog from his blond twins.

Garrett watched with an open mouth as Albus ran out of the room, effectively leaving him to fend for himself in front of the naked man.

Calmly, Garrett pulled a towel off the rack and handed it to him. But his wand had flicked out of his pocket, sure and menacing, to point at the stranger's throat.

"No matter how naked and delicious you may be," Garrett said dangerously, "...you're in our flat. And you are NOT. WELCOME. HERE. AND you made Albus upset. And THAT is just not right." Garrett's hip cocked sassily and his frown deepened.

"Oh, fuck, um. I can explain, just don't blow me up." Derek grabbed a towel from the counter and covered himself quickly. "I need your help. But, um, do you have some clothes I could borrow by chance?"

Garrett raised an eyebrow and scoffed.

"Oh, please. I'm not going to lend you any of my clothing. I'm perfectly content to let you walk around in that towel in embarrassment, even out the door if necessary. What. Are you doing. In this flat."

Garrett was obviously not going to budge until he had an answer. And he knew he'd find one.

After all, Hufflepuffs are particularly good finders.

Albus, coat and scarf in hand, rushed from his room past the bathroom, face buried in his scarf.

"Going out with Lor and Ly! Be back later! We promise to not die!"

Right on cue, two lanky boys tumbled from the fireplace with a flash of green flames.

They stood and straightened their clothes. One wore a fairly nice coat and trousers, a rumpled blue button up beneath and navy converse. The other wore a black denim jacket, white tee, and worn jeans and converse as well.

Despite such differing tastes, the two were completely identical with crooked smiles, silver blue eyes, and shoulder length blond hair that was so light it almost looked like white gold.

They both gathered the small, black haired boy into their arms, pressing chaste kisses on his lips and face.

"Darling sweet -"

"- gorgeous dove -"

"- don't you look just dapper?"

"And highly appealing."

Albus just giggled, taking a hand from each of them and leading them out of the flat. "C'mon, I'll tell you everything that's been happening."


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

Phin sighed as Sherlock kissed him and stayed like that for a few minutes, memorizing every scent, every breath, every tiny movement.

He never wanted to leave.

Sherlock's tongue smoothed over Phin's lips and he twisted his head slightly to gain better access.

Phin kissed him hard and slumped against him. He was exhausted.

Phin exhaled and buried himself in between the arms of his lovers. He fell asleep shortly, his head resting against Sherlock and his arms wrapped around John.

"Um, ok, fair enough. I'm Derek Argent. A hunter for the Authority. I'm here investigating the unusual werewolf attacks here in London. Now can I have some clothes?" Derek shifted nervously. He had no wand, no tools, no weapon. He never felt more, well, _naked_, in his life.

Garrett gave the man a scathing look.

"No. No you can't. There's nothing for you to see in this flat, so I suggest you leave."

Garrett opened his mouth to say something else, possibly on the subject of the man's suspect formation into man from dog, but he stopped and changed his question.

"Waaait, wait, wait. Who or what is the Authority?"

For good measure, he pointed his wand in between the man's eyes.

The American sighed. "They investigate and deal with unusual supernatural occurrences. When things go bump in the night, we are the ones that bump back." _They are the ones who are going to kill me for saying this, that's who they are, you ass hole._ He glared at his captor, "So can I go now or are you going to continue threatening my life?"

_They investigate and deal with unusual occurrences..._

_When things go bump in the night, we're the ones that bump back._

Garrett's stomach dropped sharply. The two werewolves in the flat, probably sleeping...

This man wanted something from them. Perhaps their lives. Garrett wasn't going to let that happen.

His brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed. He didn't move his wand an inch from the man's face. He looked suitably angry.

Because he _was._

"So _what_. Are you _doing._ _Here._"

"I need help. And I know Phin is a werewolf and is investigating the rogue pack in London as well. Now please, can I have some fucking clothes. I'm freezing!" He shivered for emphasis. If this wizard didn't kill him, the cold would.

A few blocks down the way, the young trio was sipping sugar laden coffee, simply happy to be back together.

Albus' eyes roamed the street, taking in all the festive Christmas decorations. He'd had little time to pay attention to the fact that it was holiday; he realized he would need to start shopping for presents. It was only a couple weeks until Christmas.

He hummed happily as he slurped up some of his peppermint white chocolate coffee - _Merlin bless Starbucks_ - and pressed against Lorcan, the twin in the nicer clothes. The romantic one.

As he browsed the nearby shops, half thinking on present ideas and half trying to deduce people, he realized there was someone watching him.

Letting his eyes rove fluidly around, pretending he was still marveling at the festive decorations, he saw her. He observed her as best he could from his peripheral vision.

She was facing the three of them from across the busy street, long hair covering most of her face. She had her hood pulled up.

She lifted a hand and Albus' blood turned to ice.

She was missing most of her index finger, the bandaged nub carefully holding a fag between it and her middle finger.

Albus turned his face up to Lysander, beaming. "I think we should get away from here very quickly," he said. "Down this alley, quicklike, and apparate away, yeah?"

The twins nodded, vaguely concerned. The three began down the alley, and across the street, the woman dropped her fag and went the opposite way.

As soon as they were out of sight from the street, the trio broke into a run. Albus shrieked when a snarl sounded behind them. A quick glance showed a large golden coloured wolf behind them, gaining fast.

He swore it was grinning.

Grabbing his boyfriends' hands, Albus scrunched his eyes closed and apparated.

They landed in the living room of 221B Baker Street in a cacophony of screaming.

Sherlock was stroking Phin's hair softly when multiple people screaming downstairs roused him and John.

He scrambled to throw on a robe, John barely pulling pants up as he grabbed his gun and they ran downstairs.

Phin's eyes were open in a flash at the sound of the screams and he was in a pair of trousers and bolting toward the parlour in seconds.

Albus was crying and shrieking and scrambling backwards, Lorcan and Lysander staring in silent horror as they backed away from the woman writhing on the floor.

Garrett shrieked a bit and jumped, everything about the newcomer forgotten for a split second.

He turned to face the man, mouth open and eyes wide. He drew his wand away from the man and bolted toward the parlour.

He didn't give a damn about the man anymore.

All that mattered was the bleeding, screaming, broken, incomplete being gushing on the floor near Albus.

His knees gave out and he slumped to the floor, gripping the carpet and heaving.

A silent scream escaped his pale lips. A long, extended wheeze.

"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God."

She was screaming and frantically, hysterically, gathering her torn intestines in her hands and trying to shove them back into her torso, her bottom half missing. She twisted on the floor, blood smearing across her naked breasts, trying to pull herself towards Albus, her face contorted in pain, fear, and hate.

She was screaming at him in some strange tongue, harsh and clipped, sounding like she was alternating between begging for his help and threatening his life.

James and Sirius shot up and out of their beds, the horrifying wailing making their blood freeze. They didn't even acknowledge each other as they ran past the bathroom and into the living room, staring at the naked half-woman dragging herself towards Albus.

At the sight of the bleeding, half-torso crawling toward Albus, Phin's eyes widened and his stomach dropped.

She was a wolf.

She was a _half._ A _torso._

And for a split second, she almost had Bittie's eyes.

The green eyed boy's back was pressed against the wall, tears streaming down his face, still shrieking every time she moved closer.

Suddenly a shot rang out and Albus gasped as blood and brain matter splashed across his face.

There was sudden, oppressive silence after the gunshot, John standing firm and staring down at the mutilated half-corpse leaking blood and brain and innards bits all over the rug with a steely gaze.

The crack of John's gun made Phin jump and her blood hit his bare chest and face. He staggered back a bit, stunned.

Then Albus sobbed and James rushed forward, followed by Lorcan, Lysander, and John, the doctor setting his gun down and clearing the other three off to check the twelve year old over.

Sirius leant against the wall behind him, hand rubbing his face. Sherlock examined the body.

Phin felt shaky. His throat was dry and catching as he breathed. He could feel a massive, wrenching panic attack coming, but he stood perfectly still.

His eyes flashed to Remus.

Remus stood in the doorway to the parlour, his shoes lightly spattered with blood. His mouth was slightly parted. He had no words. He merely glanced up to meet Phin's eyes, his brow furrowed.

A slight choked noise escaped his throat.

Sherlock walked over to Albus, crouching behind John and watching his blond lover examine the still shaking boy.

The doctor found no wounds and quickly checked the two blond fourteen year old twins.

Albus looked up at Sherlock and stared.

The detective exhaled and opened his arms, resigned to getting blood all over his robe and person. He hugged his apprentice.

"How do you do it?"

Albus clung to the detective's robe, eyes avoiding the corpse and looking at Phin and Moony and Paddy and Garrett and back to Phin, who looked like he was about to have a panic attack.

He relaxed slightly as Sherlock's deep voice vibrated through his chest.

"You carry on and detach yourself from it. However, I've never had to deal with such a...traumatizing experience."

Albus pulled away from Sherlock and sat on the floor, unsure if he should go clean his face off or not. He wondered if he'd need to give his clothes over as evidence.

Stumbling to his feet, Garrett very calmly withdrew from the group and hurried to the kitchen.

"S'cuse me..."

He vomited into the sink.

Garrett pulled his spinning head from the sink and thanked John when he was handed a small bottle of medicine with relief. He washed his mouth out with water from the sink.

James turned to the twins.

"What happened? And one of you speak and then the other, not the whole finishing each other's sentences."

One nodded, the one in the scruffier clothes. "We came over, we walked to the Starbucks a few blocks away, Albus told us that we needed to go down an alleyway and apparate back here, and then this giant werewolf was on our trail and when Albus apparated she got splinched." The one in nicer clothes nodded in agreement.

Phin's hands were beginning to shake. He kept telling himself to breathe, just breathe, in-out-in-out-in-out, but he calmly took a few steps back to lean against the wall.

The floor was blurry.

Remus bit down on his nausea and went over to his shaking grandson.

"Phineas?"

He put a hand on the man's shoulder.

"S-she's..." Phin swallowed thickly and tried to begin again.

Remus frowned sympathetically and handed Phin his sweater, fixing the collar on his button-down.

"Come on. Let's go outside for a minute."

Phin walked with Remus up to the roof of the flat and lit a cigarette with shaking hands.

He was aware, very aware, of his grandfather's eyes on him, but he let the comforting smoke go in a puff.

Closing off his throat to keep from breathing in the foul smoke, Remus watched Phin tremble and exhale until the dark-haired boy looked up at him with an exhausted growl.

"What."

Remus didn't pull his eyes away.

"You've got to pull yourself together, Phineas."

"Oh, right." Phin flicked the stub away with an air of expertise. "A naked female torso crawling and screaming towards people, bleeding all over the floor, trying to get at ALBUS is supposed to make me chortle and make clever remarks about the fine china."

Remus frowned, his patience tested. Some days, this boy...

"No. But you knew as well as I do what she was."

Phin's dark brows furrowed.

"Yeah... yeah, I do. What should we do about it?"

Remus sighed and watched the darkening clouds above their heads.

"I don't know. She had just changed. This is really beyond me and I'm terrified we're next." His grey eyes met his grandson's hazel. "Which is why it is necessary that we keep our heads."

Phin nodded and Remus knew he understood. Flying off the handle in any way could be incredibly dangerous right now.

"Yeah. I understand."

"Good." Remus patted him on the back. "Let's go back in."

They headed quickly back into the flat.

Phin led the way into the parlour. He gave the dripping torso a grim look.

Remus followed Phin into the sitting room. He kept a close eye on his grandson.

He couldn't pretend he wasn't terrified. So far, the two of them seemed to have escaped the horrors other werewolves seemed to be experiencing, but either way...

Who WAS she? How has she ended up HERE?

Remus stooped while the others talked and closed her eyes gently.

Phin gave Remus a look.

"I'm... er... going outside."

He saw his grandfather's kind eyes as he nodded, and felt his hand on his back.

On the staircase, Phin pulled a cigarette from his pocket, arms trembling slightly from the stress and his eyes turned pointedly away from the shrinking walls.

Remus watched Phin leave the room with a sigh.

He couldn't shake a sudden feeling that something - besides the bloody torso on the floor - was slightly off.

Phin would be okay.

He turned his attention again to the body before him and his brow furrowed.

Derek peered around the corner, tensing when he noticed the body. He exhaled, then stepped forward. "Can I have some clothes please?"

Sherlock turned and took in the sight of the man. "Derek Argent, I presume."

The American nodded, uncertain. "How did you know?"

"I've my ways. However, I'd rather you stay back. I don't trust you near –"

"No, no, I'm not here to hurt Phin. I've been hunting the rogue wolves, just like you."

Sherlock eyed the man, aware of everyone watching him. He opened his mouth to say something but was stopped by the sound of his phone pinging. He pulled his mobile out and opened the text.

_We have a problem.  
>-MH<em>

A figure stood at the end of Baker Street, hands flexing. A ripple of light fur traveled up the arms from the hands and dark eyes flashed golden.

More figures stepped from the shadows, shifting into massive wolves. It was dangerous to be changing this early in the day, but he had taken care of it.

With a wave of his hand, the leader, still in human form, sent the others to set up a perimeter around the street.

Then he began walking towards the only place on the street that matter to him: 221B.

Fur sprouted and subsided more quickly as he became increasingly excited. "The flirting's over, my dears."

Jim Moriarty stood across the street from the door to 221B, waiting in the shadows.

One of them would come out soon enough, and if he was lucky enough, it'd be one of the three lovebirds.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

Phin stepped outside, sank to a sitting position on the stoop and sighed heavily, letting the smoke escape his nose.

He began to clam down slightly. It was nice to just step out into the wide space and the fresh air and-

His eyes widened suddenly. Something. It was _SOMETHING._

He let his gaze pan the streets.

What WAS it?

"I'm glad you came outside, Phineas."

Jim stepped from the shadows, dark eyes piercing and almost seductive, locking gazes with the younger man.

"You see, I've been waiting for someone to step out of the flat. But I wouldn't run back in or call out for help if I were you. I've got this place surrounded. Take a whiff, Phineas, and tell me what you smell."

The criminal's smile was slow and child-like.

Phin's stomach sank rapidly. He stood up sharply. The cigarette in his hand dropped to the wet pavements. He didn't dare ask the stranger how he knew his name. And he didn't dare speak. His hazel eyes met the stranger's evenly. His muscles tensed to sprint, to change, to whip out his wand. Whatever was necessary.

But he didn't move.

He let the scents come to him slowly. He knew what they were. His eyes narrowed at the small Irishman.

The cigarette dropped to the ground and the man gave a mock look of surprise.

"What? You _can't_ tell me you don't know who I am. Sherlock and Johnny Boy never mentioned me? That's just rude."

Phin stood absolutely still, his hazel eyes locked onto the dark ones in front of him. He couldn't help but let the name slip.

"Moriarty…"

"Oh, so they _have_ mentioned me. Isn't that just charming?" Moriarty's gaze shifted and he smiled, almost kindly. "Boys, restrain him, please."

Phin's eyes snapped over to where Moriarty was looking and his legs nearly gave out. There she was, as if she'd never left. Standing in her red leather jacket, her hair longer, shoved into a messy bun, her eyes beautiful huge and glinting that stormy grey he knew better than any eyes he'd ever seen glinting horror glinting anger glinting everything there she was and in a minute there she wouldn't be no no no no NO…

His voice was choked. He couldn't breathe. It hurt, everywhere. His heart was pounding. He mouthed her name.

_Bittie._

She was staring right at him. He swallowed.

"B-bittie…"

"How good of you to join us, _Bittie._ I do so love having an audience."

Phin gave every bit of force he could muster to drive the thought at her.

_Bittie. BITTIE, RUN AWAY…_

She began to run straight for him.

Moriarty bounced on the balls of his feet. "Ah, ah! I wouldn't do that if I were you, Elizabeth. One of my _friends_ here might slip up and _oops!_ Punch him!" The grey wolf man holding Phin snarled and socked him in the stomach. Phin slumped in his arms and coughed.

Phin watched Bittie slide to a careful stop. She stood absolutely still, measuring Moriarty's movements. He tried to scramble to his feet, but he hung in the other wolf's arms, a useless ragdoll.

_Go… GO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_

Wiping his mouth with his thumb, Moriarty chuckled softly, looking down and stepping towards Phin.

"Or maybe their fingers will slip while they point a gun loaded with silver bullets at him." He gestured to the many guns held by the wolves.

There was a moment of soft quiet in the area. Suddenly, Moriarty clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Well, while I have enjoyed this little _reunion,_ I'm afraid I can't let you follow us, dear." He smiled lazily as his dark eyes flashed gold. "Tear her apart."

"NO! NOOOOOO-"

But the last thing Phin saw before the pain and black overtook his vision was her face sinking beneath the army of wolves.

She was free.

_Free._

Free to come home.

Of course it would be when she comes back for the first time in three weeks that the flat is deserted.

Bittie was biting her lip. Maybe, were she still human, it wouldn't have been something that unusual. As it was, however, she was not. She dug the edge of a venomous incisor into her lower lip.

When she'd stepped off the plane that had carried her across the ocean from New York to London, she'd come straight to Hammersmith, burst, heart pounding like a timpani, onto the top floor of the flat, and felt her stomach fall as she discovered that _no one was there._

_Ah,_ she thought. _They're hanging out at the bar._

She quickly slipped into the flat's lower level, grin nearly cracking her face in two, and slammed the door open.

"Phi-!"

It was empty.

She frowned and dashed over to the piano in the corner. A little glass ashtray was perched on top, absolutely overflowing onto the stacks upon stacks of music, scrawled notes and melodies, battered copies of Freud and Nietzsche, and hastily-jotted chords, all in Phin's jumbled handwriting.

But the ashes were cold, the notes were old, and the piano had been untouched for a long while. Something was up.

After some exemplary detective work, Bittie found an address hastily scratched on the back of an envelope.

_221B Baker Street…_

That was in London, wasn't it?

Was that the other flat Phin had mentioned in their last conversation?

Without hesitation, she hopped on a bus and was soon speeding off to London.

It didn't take long for the bus to pull up to the stop nearest Baker Street. Bittie hopped from the bus, her little duffel bag in tow, and rounded the corner, looking for a sign or some notice that seemed-

There he was.

Right _there._

She almost dropped her suitcase.

He was surrounded on all sides by wolves. She knew too well the way they smelled. They were like him, but astonishingly feral, masking his scent entirely. Their stench hit her like a wall. The force of their bright eyes frightened her, but she tensed and focused on Phin instead. His hazel eyes were flashing, frightened. His hands were held behind his back by a massive man with grey tufts of fur on his arms. Phin mouthed her name, licked his lips. Said it in a cracked voice.

"B-bittie…"

The weedy man next to him smiled, made some comment that swept right over her. She was calculating, tracing over Phin's face in her mind, judging the best way to dart through the crowd, release him, and kill as many of the wolves as she could.

_Bittie. BITTIE, RUN AWAY._

Phin's thought struck her with a sting, but she sprang forward like a gazelle and went right for him.

"Ah, ah! I wouldn't do that if I were you, Elizabeth…"

The grey wolf punched Phin in the stomach with force like a cinderblock striking him. She watched him buckle and cough and her stomach churned. She slid to a stop.

_Go... GO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_

She didn't move.

The small Irishman chuckled, but it sounded almost like a giggle. "Or maybe their fingers will slip while they point a gun loaded with silver bullets at him." He swept his hands through the air and she noticed for the first time how many of the wolves were armed.

When the man gave the order to his pack, Phin cried out, but his yell was silenced and a sudden swarm of wolves went straight for her.

Fighting with a fury that scared even herself, she tore at every throat within arm's length, sliced every face she could reach, struck out at every limb coming for her, drew blood and pain everywhere she could…

They were dropping all around her but coming with numbers she could barely overcome. She was drenched in their blood and whirling with unimaginable speed. They underestimated her. Seeing their comrades falling, they began to give up, running in the direction they had come from. But Bittie was in a frenzy. She darted after them, quicker than they were, and killed them with her fangs, striking at their spines or tearing their veins out. She stood, panting and hissing her bloodlust, in a circle of fallen wolves.

But Phin and his kidnappers were long gone.

"No…"

She couldn't catch a scent, couldn't see a trail. The Irishman had been too clever for her, covering up his tracks.

"Phin…"

They could be anywhere by now. Halfway across London. Anywhere in the city. The things they could have done to him by now...

She sank to her knees and screamed.

As she cried, in the middle of empty Baker Street with gore all around, a hand settled on her shoulder. She looked up, finding two strangers staring down at her. The taller one had a look of pure, ice cold fury upon his face and the shorter looked devastated.

Behind them stood Garrett and Albus, the young boy clutching his boyfriends and sobbing as huge fat tears poured from his eyes. Garrett was trying gallantly to not cry, but one look at Bittie made him hiccup and the floodgates opened.

And standing in the door to 221B was Phin's grandfathers and their friend with someone she didn't know.

The blond stranger knelt and pulled her into a hug. As Bittie clutched him, even though she had no idea who he was, the other man said, "We'll get him back. I won't let Moriarty win. Not over Phin."

Bittie could only trust the conviction in his voice.

**NEW FLATMATE:  
>PART I;<strong>

**END**

**A/N:** Once more, we encourage you whole heartedly to come tell us what you thought on our tumblrs. Phie (_phiesalittlelighthouse_), Kcold (_kcoldem_), and Iggy (_iggymarauder_) would love to hear from you guys.

Also, if you enjoyed Part I, we will begin roleplaying Part II soon. You can learn more about Part II and our other roleplays on the official Marauder Roleplays tumblr (_marauder-roleplays_).

Much thanks for reading this,

Marauder Roleplays  
><em>Deae Ferens Obductos<em>


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